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= * Tax design in the publication of the Eclectic Series is not merely to produce 
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present, as far as could be done in a single volume, the most val- 
-uable features of many popular books on the subjects of Elocu- 
tion and Rhetorical reading. Free use has been made, there- 
fore, of the works of Bell, Graham, Ewing, Pinnock, Scott, Wood, 
McCulloch, Enfield, Mylius, Sheridan Knowles, and others, and 
particularly of those of Mr. Walker, whose ‘ Elocution,’ and 
‘ Rhetorical Grammar,’ constitute the foundihon on which all 
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eral of the authors above named, he trusts he will be found to 
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The compiler has also received much valuable assistance, in 


the revision and preparation of the manuscript for the press, 


from an able and experienced teacher, who has devoted much | 


time and study to the subject of Elocution.* He is not with- 
out the hope, therefore, that his labors may prove serviceable to 


those engaged in the business of education. 


eg T. S. Prnweo, A. M., M. D., a graduate of Yale College, late Professor in 


the Charlotte Hall Institute, Maryland; and more recently, Professor in Mari-. 


etta College. 


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CONTENTS. 


i PART I. 


ANALYSIS OF THE PRINCIPLES OF ELocurion. 


ER CCODUCTORY REMARTR ° «wade eats tie ok ue Gis yam ee, 
ARTICULATION 15h. SES ea ag, Te tenes pe ats eee, Slay 
Bailie and Remedies ore px. je “sue 0 cadet .4.ats Gee. ould 
Dropping or sounding too slightly, vowels. ..... 15 
Sounding vowels incorrectly . . 1.0. ss 0 ww se 6 15 
Suppressing or clipping final consonants. . . ....» 16 
Omitting or mispronouncing whole syllables. . ... 17 
Blending serimitations ys cae o's ss. ©) outs op uercnaa ede 
Directions and EXercis€s | <a *. 01.5. ees eee 2718 
Vowel. Wlemonts.. 2% | sbbcl auseccil. samy srcibn demersal 
Lixplosion of Vowel Sounds“ . «ss «le eieits 6 19 
Consénatit Bleniénts 07) 20) eck, Wingy 80 
Explosion of Consonant Elements ......... 20 
PLXETCISED 2 5 Ves Mae Mee eh ere a ate et Ate re ate 
PRT CRT ON Smet ee Be OA i ae ae ants re tes Lee ee Oe 
Dehnitions and IoMeinplés "Toi. cle sis 6 bs ese 23 
Rules and Examples- . . .,Syojemay ay dae & xen aie 
Rules for Falling Inflection ...°.°. . 0)» « » 26, 27, 28 
Rules for Rising Inflection... . . . . «29, 30, 31, 32 
Rules for both Inflections. . . . . s » 32; 33, 34, 35, 36 
MACE ee, eG” ee cserie «eS Ve ha ee STE weer ae 
SO OS ht a ea a ie cai fete eS oo ety 
VGHOTORG ts vee Bue ale 6s ea MAR eS we te le PT 
ACCENT AND Emrnasisnyciiins th he faaicims we? oc wile Gan oes 
POCONE A conic she) aie Dec Lipstn i ed ate no Mp pee aa alee Sa 
Hinphagiats’: MEO Gel et ees ee eee eee) 
Aisolute Mimphacis ee els Jeno ene 8p 0. > Bong Us th aes ee 
RSIS EAI PUBSIS wie are res 0).a lc a bs Vane aac ae 
Emphasis and Accent 
Finphasis:and Inflection... @) ss ¢y te sues peed? = 
Etapmatic: Phrase... + sce cui» 2:97 bt wy 6 aye ie cee 
Serie E OUSC 76) 5 (6 le” wie. swe le <6) eee een 
[ysTRucTIoNs SORT PADING  VEVSE cs 6 5. 0s’ SoA. a6 fee) 6 4 oe ate Ae 
PAE VEVETUCCILON Wig he one “sd .9- Ale ok 8 bec. wee 
Poetie Accent and Emphasis... 6 . ee se we ee 45 


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CONTENTS, 7 
*, Pack. 
Pigmticg Paseo. 4 ge “aap h ase) ste Ps ae a7 
EIS ji 5 te A -< paicleMO « <4) Ue aBnideat Loevaame . G49 
CULTIVATION ANDHMANAGEMENT OF THE- VOICE. ., . 62.2. « Sl 
Strength and Compass of the Voice. . 2.0.0 % 51 
Fullness or Rotundity of the Voice... 2. 2. 55 
Management, of the Voices: ois 00s es «an: ts 96 
Poo ua = meets t tome) bo Saye Blend tegen ee 
Biicemerrenereo TEACHERS, ¢ £\ 5 ope ee Foe 5 0) © score en moO 
és 
PARTS II. AND JIL. 
READING LESSONS IN PROSE. 
Lesson. Pace, 
ip eocmmminr OF A MOLT oc. ke ss em we ee hg See. Gh 
4. Industry Necessary to form the Orator. ......H. Ware, Jr. 66 
TRIE UOT on g's Os oe 4-2, 4 © ose 0 3 ore, « ANGRYMOUS. OS 
SeteeeOM POU. 5 5 4-0 0-6 + a ene if ne ss se cRonymous. 69 
eee PCL. oi tc a 4 ts a 8 eas ee P ETEROUL. TE 
Dee mmeeeaee CTC... es 8 ee ew es ts LSS TOWELS. LO 
Dae Ome MIMBIC eg ow oe se sie ie te WB. 76 
MRE AEE 5) cy cs. 6 oe tue 8s hk ce ene 8 8 EO. IG 
ka. Proppects o1 the:Cherokees, . °° 5 wen es prague Bh 
ta) Wapeces at Uiliversal Benevolence”. 07... 8 ee tee 8 Dick.” BF 
18. Select Paragraphs. . .. .. 6. 6 « « © » « Johnson, Sheridan. 85 
20. Character of Napoleon Bonaparte .. . ....-+.. Lhillips. 88 
23. Speech before the Virginia Convention. . .. . Patrick Henry. 92 
25. Speech in reproof of Mr. Pitt ....... Sir Robert Walpole. 96 
See eee eo eet VV aipgle: .* oo a. See ee ee otek ths ae 
ee CeO IC OIE El 6... tgs ow LODETESON, "OS 
39. Paul’s Defense before King Agrippa .....e..+.-..- Bible. 115 
a, ie womarme. Leiler® ..* 6... eons ec ge es dackenzte, 119 
a2, seep pieesteememiner ; . ff ce kl £8 PT Le ee ralasmith, V2) 
44, La Fayette and Robert Raikes .’.°.°.°. 6. 6 ee ee Grimke 123 
i tromen Pitlogy on Debt . * 2° 8 ee a to eo oo Anonymous. 129 
“48. The Miseries of Imprisonment . . .. « « « os « © « © Sterne. 131 
femme omriuament” 5 6 et 2 8S PE Walter Stott. 136 
eI ee gS ST Te ote ete e ee ere ese ieen TAO 
54, Massachusetts and South Carolina. . .... 2 2 « « Webster. 141 
I a VES See SST Scere Oe. ee ee UT. "tee 
59. Influence of Natural Scenery. . . 2... 2 2 6s « « Anonymous. 147 
Pe WIEN OF TG COlseUmT Seo. ee Te eee” 8 SS a ee ewmeyA TAO 
61. The Ruins of Herculaneum. . . . 2-0 0 + + + - « + Kotzebue. 151 
TEE ates LL. ae eee’ eae? Bee er erally AP wleimor 
66. Elijah at Mount:Horeb . .  . 6 6 0 e's 0s © © © ~Krummacher. 158 
67. Discontent.—An Allegory . 6 6.6 6 6 « 6 © 0 «© 0 « Addison. 159 


ae 


CONTENTS 


Lesson. PaGeE, 
68. ‘The Knave Unmaskels . 2. 2 2:5... 2. 6s  » Shakspeare. 163 
69. Colloquial Powers of Dr. Franklin. +. 4.4.0... . Wirt. 171 
70. The: Sick:Scholar. =~. .°. . amr ea Ri RE i 
74. The Moon and Stars.—A Fable... ... =... Montgomery. 178 
Zo. Ie Sante MSs tee ee eee ee eC See 
78. Impeachment of Warren Hastings. . .. . . Edinburg Review. 186 
79. Speech on the Trial of Warren Hastings. ...... « Burke. 188 
G2. The Veyage s 53 sos Ss ways Lt, Oe 
63.70 We Same ica. cas Meenas ek Sg ge Me akg ta ge 
86. An Evening Adventure... . 2... 4+ 64 « « Anonymous. 203 
87. Objests of sducations foo. es ee ws 8 e> se »-Laylor. 205 
88. ‘The Ambitious Youth 0). eo. ee 0 8 es ses . Burritt, 206 
89. Incentives to Youthful Devotion. .......... . Taylor. 209 
92. A Bee Hunt fi yt Se rae ae ate ol gos. WW. drving 208 
93. ‘The Mechanical Wonders of a Feather. . ... .. . . Paley. 216 
97. On the American War. . . 1... 2». « « Lord Chatham. 220 
98. Supposed Speech of John Adams... . ...... - Webster. 222 
99. Death and Character of Queen Elizabeth. . .. . .. . Hume. 225 
102. Character of Louis Fourteenth. ........ « « Macaulay. 232 
£03. A Petition stage sc 's' cs cee oa ve eres e Mep EN ok Pr GRE fe nee 
106. Anecdote of the Duke of Neweastle. .. .... . Anonymous. 238 
107. A Passage:in Human LMC foe ale ss es ete ong pioNa. aan 
ELT. RO eOTAg eg soe fog te ois > 41S es SW tebe s POIRe, aes 
412. Charactefof Columbus... 2 0.00.6 ae eats W. Irving. C47 
113. Reception of Columbus in Spain. . ....... . W. Irving. 250 
116. Surrender of Grenada to the Spaniards. . . .... . . Bulwer. 255 
119," Character of Blannerhassett <5. 5 ke 8 duwue sco ie Wirt. 261 
120. Speech on the Trial of a Murderer... .. .... . . Webster. 263 
125. The Little Brook and the Star ......... Lit. Souvenir. 270 
BAG Uti: Sale 6 eae! o's Ye he Th Ue ‘altabihe Sarde Wu ata Wie Se «oe soles eae 
129. Eulogy on Candle Light. . .......... « Charles: Lambe. 282 
Rae LIAM Or GL AONE 40513 ns. ae ie el ahs oc ee mo els Lea eee 
133. Character of the Puritans. ...... .. . Edinburg Review. 289 
134. The Memory of Our Fathers. ......... . Dr. Beecher. 292 
137. Poetry of the Bible. . . 1 6 1 6 6 6 0 0 ow eo « Dr. Spring. 295 
139. The Mysterious Stranger. ........... Jane Taylor. 299 
BAG. GUDG PadtNG oo. ek nse ca’ a's LR ik RE cee ae 
PAL eater OF Kivatiod: (i... Gop” +i ce gap eeeistin 8h Oe anak ARG ane 
bes. Sao Poe less IN CSL. 6 ke 6’ 0, 8 wi eh woe, <- eae Riaecaee OLE 
HAG SM ATIEG 5° on a he a ae: wise) al Re ha wk oy ghee Gah in amr 
BENE OTC. se 6 ys tis hd oe ow 6 bai hen Ge uuiaitle Ka Le cea sapien ie 
BOP MieeeTipion Of a OPE ss 6 tec a. ow tee a 8 ete Walter Scott. 320 
151. Invasion of Switzerland. . ......... . Sydney Smith. 323 
154. Evilsiof War... 2 0 ee 0.0 0 6 0 0 «0 ite -« «: Anonymous. 326 
155. On the Removal of the British Troops from Boston . . Chatham. 228 
157. Eulogy on La Fayette. . 1... 2 0 25 6 wo we ss Sprague, 333 
158. (Gharacter of La Fayette... .\. 0 + © sts bilesie,«/« Lverdi,. aa 
AGB. Ge RPAPIBUE ae ois 5 ss a eee De. veces hte cps me. Velen ee 


CONTENTS. 


9 


Lesson. Page. 
$4 uservance of the Sabbath ...—-....06- sper ie eles Dr. Spring, 348 
Pe ey OPetIMGRICANION'..) ks. Lee ee Me o OLS R ehakepeare: 351 
169. Choice of Hercules... . ah oi att, Min Sy igo iy atin ke Gaby apo. 
171. Speech on the Catholic (Gucauea’ wa ol ah bate Matiomlahy Wate Meare hae. Goo 
ie vomaaranding Army. 6 Ye bee ee a Puliexey./360 
BPO OT WIENS eee! i PPT Sales sh a0 5c olhanh «te Cee 
ipower at Soe es es ai oy ah de ace. a eae ame Meek 
180, Shakspeare. ....... Sse on ot SUD TE Res Sie Dele ORTIL OTe 
181. Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress ......-. othe er acaalay.. 376 
184. The Natural inferior to the Moral World. ..... . . Grimke. 381 
185. Advantages of a well Educated Mind. ....... . Bigland. 382 
PENI VISITS oo es wie) 0) oes ov on os apn 0) 04. 0b 8 ape AMORYMOUS.HOO4 
BO seer OEE POPOTty 0) a. ac ee oy 0s on oversevas ele, elaine Diatkstone.): 388 
190-sorn American. Indians. + 20°. 6 eee ip wie J Sprague. 392 
192. Character of Lord browshiegitek ndneutens dias) oe Anonymous... 396 % 
194. British Refugees .. 2. 0. 6 6 0 ee wee Patrick Henry. 402 
195. The Fourteenth Congress. . .....-.....K. HH. Wilde. 404 
198: Seale of (Animal Existence. . . ssese[s wes. se «6 Spectator. 411 
Perce cmaet ar (ae DCA oa 26 oie fe de un ie se cetiele Ve cravat Oseian... 446 
202. A Republic of Prairie Dogs. . . 2... 2 «+ © 3 « W. Irving. 417 
205. Trimemaienry and Falstaff...) «, 6) «5 eile se). Meuhakspeare. :419 
204. Combat between a Crusader and a Saracen .. . . Walter Scott. 422 
Ue gg si ag 6 0 ew ee 8 4 eae Bishop teter..428 
BOP AM MCPRIPIDWIECK 5 5 os aya 8 ws 0.8 scele ie 0, « Anonymous. 429 
PROT EMER IMIOTySCIONCE -, ¢ 4 oF 6. 829.6 $5 be bp lve da Aten 430 
215. The Discontented Pendulum .......... .dane Taylor. 438 
217. Scene from the Poor Gentleman ...... «+++ Colman. 442 
Be esmtIOr OPE CAPANNON 6 5. a 3c te 6 0g mitiaetey sje, Dubwere 449 
221. The Family of Marco Bozzaris . . . . . « «+ « «© « » Stevens. 453 
223. Duties of American Citizens . . . « « « © + + + © «© «© Webster. 458 
224. Importance of the Union. .:. . . «+ « w+ © © © « « Webster. 460 
228. Westminster Abbey. .... gis ee Win le ney of auaddison. 466 
230. Grateful Old Age.—Soliloquy of Pateteon : «wipes jap go (reaner: 469 
231. New Year’s Night-of an Unhappy Man. ..... . . Richter. 471 
234. God Blesses the Industrious. . . 1.6 eo ee 0 es © Laylor. 476 
POETICAL LESSONS 
Lesson. Page. 
meiynin vo tue Night Wind » 2 ote at oe ae Oe oe a Wilson, 62 
meena Cratarget Of Dodere .°.°- 5°52 6 go Coe ekg eas "Southey, 68 
8. Tothe Dead... . Se a eS ee ate | ee ee Ore eee Terra Tt 
9. The Village Pivetontir«; et et a at eto. ew Sed We Longe. a3 
Por eon or Lhe Stars. 2's ES ee ee A , Bepante 79 
14. Sorrow and Hope. . ... +... » Herder’s Hebrew Poetry. 80 


10 


CONTEN'IS 


LEsson. 5 PAGE. 
boa hes ott of: Prayers ser.) <i: 0..s. See wee Mrs. Hemans. 81 
TD .uoeieees Aree TaD hens oie ing Pei geae' wae ce Lo la iil Addison, Cotton. 87 
el wWadetoan Infant San i act: Goal eS 2 ae os ibid. Cap 
wo. te emlet 8 Soliloquy... is iu alien Mt, TY Aas Shakspeare. 91 
24. The Gouty Merchant and the Stranger .° .yit yan Anonymous. 95 
Pe. mummiMny-OF LLALE Aaa ie ees Mem ane d Obes ins 8 Herder’s Hebrew Poetry. 99 
ed hd OCRIG tot Vly aide) Sp Set bas PTB og” Sig asp tg ay . Pope. 101 
30. \Buariabof Sir Tohn, Moore... a es ee ghee Charles Wolfe. 102 
31. Be Meiners Drea. 15. =o! ose HERERO ae ah ~ . » Dimond. 103 
32...Mary, the. Maid.of the. Ing. hen iv dso 8 4s - « « Southey. 105 
33. Midnight Mass for the Dying Year .... oad W. uae gfelléw. 107 
Ot. qbrensoleter is JUCsh «5 6. 61.cu Ssdinevenckevecce sues Walter Scott. 109 
Sd, wepithalrs Daughters yea or eo sacee ou « » og, BP. Wales. 120 
36. The Treasures of the Deep. . . . 4... « + Mrs. Hemans. 111 
37. Hector’s Attack on.the Grecian Walls . . . . . . Pope’s Homer. 112 
38. Battle ib Pedven itive o's na bP 6 ¥ a B90G EY) ile. ae 
40. Speech of Henry Fifth to he Troops. .. . . . . Shakspeare. 117 
41. Rienzi’s Address to the Romans. .......% Miss Mitford. 117 
45. .Godtie Every: Where (6.40 +0 96 40 40 v0 tn no teh ek Old Gl Se tton. 186 
46. ‘Satan, Sih, and"Death i a vis « #3 Mew Joe MMilien, ARF 
49. ‘The; Prisonérfor Debts» ss ww axeces o: seuel s aoe Sie Whartier, 138 
51. Pulaski’s Banner .... sowo8 Sd nena) HoW) Longfellow. .138 
52. Downfalliof Poland « « ee eu eee we & « « ow © Campbell, 199 
55. Modulation ata Me etets Me te 6.9 FORE 80 6 dee ss dion. ae 
56. Othello’s Apology # @:¢i¢ dedi 2. oa. e SOS, Shakspeare. 144 
57. ‘Faithless Welly Grayr. iw. sot. sine #5 PANY 4 PEGI Hood. 145 
62. The Roman Soldier;—Last Days of Herculaneum. . Atherstone. 152 
63. The Family Meeting «5. 6 6 6 6 ee e+ « Charles Sprague, 155 
64. I’m Pleased, and yetI’m Sad *.....4. ...H.K. White. 156 
71. The Reaper and the Flowers. . ...... H. W. Longfellow. 176 
Te. ‘oprings-%. & 4 sy De hn er ie see 
73. The May-Day oe SR ae A ae oe. Vn Heber. 178 
76. Summer Evening «sf... 8 a ees | WC. Bryant. 184 
77, "The Snow- Blake .+.+.- Wi. SEO 8 SN ee Miss Gould,-188 
80. The Parting of Marmion and Hipusie oe « © «© « Walter Scott. 190 
81. Red Jacket, the Indian Chief. .......% =. F.G. Halleck. 192 
64. “Te: Pearl-Diver®. 5. es » « © e Mrs. Hemans. 199 
85. Elegy Written in a Country Guineh: Misti afte So 3s) Grade 2ee 
90. A Psalm of Life... «> 20 ee op H.W. Longfellow. 211 
91. The Justice and Power of God . +» » Noyes’ Translation of Job. 212 
94 "The Nose.and the Eyes; sneintotestiny &. . . .. Cowper. 217 
95. The Well of St. Keyne .. 1... 502+ oe 0 « « Southey, 218 
OG. eLeny on Madam Blaze oie’ le 0 we, tts e . » Goldsmith. 219 
100. Fall of Cardinal Wolsey... . oe 6 + «© « Shakspeare. 228 
101. Death and Character of Gi dthal se eel s+ ee « « Shakspeare. 230 
104. Address toa Mummy ... 2.65 6s «2 0 6 « Anonymous. 235 
105. Paper.—A Conversational Pleasantry . .... . Franklin, 236 
LOR. AMM IODATLCTLIN Neos 50's 6 te ie ip ® wo ce “fae Benjamin. 242 


CONTENTS. 11 
LESSON. PAGE. 
TOD NITRO StS 60 0c ba oe cee oe, Loe oe ee oe cs ote oe an (MOR Bryant, 243 
Simro Durel- Yard... ke nw on te See to o te MP amisin. 245 
Wiigemattic.of Lyry. se ek ee ee ee OE OM aceilays 252 
195.clord Ulin Daughter. ... . 2. a. SOT Campbell. ‘254 
117. The Last Sigh of the Moor..-. 2... .. .. Diss Jewsbury. 258 
118. The Approach of a Devastating Army .......-+ ss Bible, 260 
P97 ihe’ Dreain of Clarence... -o.. +... dl Oar PES Shakspeare. 265 
RR pre ee as ek kk ea te IL RS DN BW alls. 207 
123.,.Adam's*Morning Hymn. « «6 6 0 ee ee ele 8) 6 § Milton. 267 
Wat ger pet Ol Arprily ., osc lies ove ot ST ROR” OY) Warton..269 
127 .ohliynm. onthe Seasons . . . 1 6 oe oe wo a 8 SSL hompson. 278 
128. ofhél Qiack:....5...5% sk ch toe oi eh rete o WS Adonymous. 280 
Eipaeepeeopne to ihe Sun’... 1... we ie fase te He ots 6 ee SMP eretialZS0 
Pacoeaririess’ 4 wm. sw oP teh Om wn ete Byes eDyrons 288 
135. The Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers. ..... . . Mrs. Hemans. 293 
TAS WADOM OE AtMerTation .*. ee 9 oe te BLS . Mrs. Hemans. 294 
138. Song of Moses after the nel a of the Red Sea. . . Exodus xv. 298 
142. Apostrophe to Niagara ...... 2.2...» Mrs. Sigourney. 305 
143. God,the Author of All hina: el #3: elaine @ is: 0 Leomigamery. SUF 
Pee eee ne la ack see were se) duet, Souvenir. 313 
146eq ‘The Philosopher’s;Scalea’...0.°5 woe 8 ee Vane Taylors 317 
1497 hepBattle of Blenheim “0... 006. (ef e) 6 6) esa ws Southey. 318 
Beer aeeron, Talayeres s: ho, os eje s,s oy 0 wee etree eo Byrom’ 325 
Posy mee Wy Eriol Ss Wreatlt .. 6. 6 F053) 0 8s ee ie ele Anonymous. 326 
156. Edward and Warwick . .... .. Translated from the French. 330 
1597 eV Ce OF MPMI... 0) oi ae ah Sas ote) ec Mtg. Hemans: 338 
ee re a oad 6. 0 ey eg iacy wind altagews pe yan Dhepers S40 
DGTegisare TE POPLINE se) «o's Yo iw el mts. 6) wo. ao JU rs, Sigourney. (341 
te NE ele ks once 5: mith enuedigns 0) uae Cowper. 343 
Bee Boevermeirc eimenenineg.. 2... se ste ee A. Ke White. 350 
166. What is Time?..... ton eas 6k 5e ehed Jo's. sie «, AUT ORCH 4g cnO 
168% Death and the Drunkard . .......-+.«.++.+. Anonymous. 352 
Beene PACT GMs sg 8 hele ee st 8 ew we Dryden. 356 
BVO Pere OR TUE og oe ve oes Sh ee Shakspeare. 362 
I7te Remorse or Hing wont . . wk 1 + kee ww + oe SHOKSpeare. 363 
MMI WTO ee ec, ee ye ek wo ee 8 oe + LwaTdS. 31h 
PuarmyonnOUier s\EMMTO l,m tee Cowper. 372 
ioe eevenmne Wind, J e.g ee 8 WC. Bryant. 373 
poe me rooaness Of God: . a a Re ee Psalm citi. 378 
183. God seen in the Phenomena of Nature. ..... W. G. Clark. 379 
187. The Traveler at the Source of the Nile. . ... . Drs. Hemans. 386 
188. What Coristitutes a State. .... oo « « « Sir William Jones. 387 
frioattlo. oF Beal’ an-Duine. 6.0. wee Se ee . Walter Scott. 393 
i93. The Quarrel of Brutus and Gnome Per ati eee . « « « Shakspeare. 399 
196. Antony’s Oration over the Dead Body of Cesar . . . Shakspeare. 406 
Poeun at Sed win. 5 ss, stat Maadien vie) a)» (6 Carrington. 409 
199. Godiseen.in All Things. . . 2 20 5 eis 6 6 «6 « Anonymous. 413 
200. Resolution of Ruth, . 2. 6 se e+ 6 « « Christian Examiner. 


414 


12 


CONTENTS. 


Lesson. Pace. 
205. ‘Liochiyar oes. 6 swe leo. bi oy vie eeu enebes st. Rte ae 
200. PET NWOCALON 3.6 ian pe pce oe rrr ne reo 
207. The Coral Grove. ... artes a) o> . . « Percival. 427 
211. The Victorious March of God hig. ects Fender’ tian Poetry. 432 
212. God the Defense of his People. ........ . .« Isaiah aliii. 433 
213. Apostrophe to Mont Blanc... .. 2... Coleridge. 435 
214. Thunder-Storm on the Alps. ..... Shas ; SBE: 436 


216. 
218. 
220. 
222. 
225. 
226. 
227. 
229. 
232. 
233. 
235. 


Address t6.a Shred of Linen ........6..:... Mrs, Sinaia 
Star-Light on Marathon. .......... . R. Montgomery. 
Songiol ‘the Greek Bard..: 6.500). tej sis ceo! dlvns te Mele eee 
IMERRCOSBOZZATIS.) 6a 0 a Sale! te eis, “0: » GusMeMle SB Gaieieaens 
Men eticaAd lag eset ea ws dolls be ck be ue J. R. Drake. 
RNC re NWI,” 41sec ue Teel de tues hile ay joe ae et So eeeretoms 
Rome - - - - ee a ee 
The Three Be aici co see (ee =) 2 © Mrs. Thrale. 
The Closing Year - - - - - - - - + += G.D. Prentice. 
The Last Man -- - ~ = + = - = = = + + = Campbell. 
God’s Goodness to Such as Fear Him - - - - - Psalm xazvii. 


440 
447 
451 
457 
461 
463 
464 
467 
472 


474 . 


479 


M°GUFFEY’S 


RHETORICAL GUIDE. 


PART FIRST. 


ANALYSIS OF THE PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 


INTRODUCTORY REMARKS. 


Tue first step to be taken by one who desires to become a 
good reader or speaker, is to acquire a habit of distinct articula- 
tion. Without this, the finest voice, the utmost propriety of 
inflection, and all the graces of articulation, fail to please. 

The habit of defective articulation is generally contracted in 
the first stages of the learner’s progress, and arises either from 
indolence, which produces an indistinct and drawling utterance, 
or from too great haste, which leads to running words together, 
and to clipping them by dropping unaccented words and final 
consonants. 

Habits of this kind, frequently—indeed, generally, become 
so inveterate by the time the pupil is sufficiently advanced to use 
a work on rhetorical reading, or any treatise on elocution, that 
the most constant and unremitting attention is necessary on the 
part of both teacher and pupil, in order to correct them. Nothing 
but a resolute determination to succeed, and faithful practice upox 
exercises selected with especial reference to the end in view, can 
accomplish this object. ‘There must be added to this, a constant 
watchfulness against relapse, when the learner comes to lessons 
of a more general character. ; 

A monotonous style of reading and speaking, is often formed 
at the same early age. ‘The little reader is apt to prolong the 
sound of the word he has just deciphered, until he can “spell : 
out’? the one which follows;—and if he is hurried from one 
lesson to another, without having time given him to practice 
upon that with which he is already familiar, his progress may 
seem rapid ;—-but he is not learning to read, in the proper sense 


13 cy 


i: Rae M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL “UIDE : 


of the word, that is, to give utterance to words with that modifi- 
cation of voice which their-relation to each other demands ;—he 
is only becoming familiar with the appearance of words, so as 
to call their names readily. A child should first be exercised on 
a single lesson, until he can name all the words at sight, care 
being taken that he shall wnderstand what he reads, and then he 
should be instructed to give the proper inflection and emphasis, 
(which, before bad habits are formed, he will readily do,)—and 
when this is accomplished, and notbefore, he may be permitted 
to pass on to another lesson. ; 

But if a heavy and monotonous manner has become habitual, 
it can only be remedied by going somewhat to the other extreme, 
and reducing every thing to the standard of inflection and 
emphasis furnished by animated conversation. ‘This must be 
patiently persevered in. Neither teacher nor pupil should be 
discouraged, if, at first, the attempt at increased propriety of arti- 
culation and inflection should result in a style of reading only a 
little less artificial than the one they are endeavoring to break up. 
Let them peRsEvERE, until a correct habit has been formed, and 
nature. will show herself, and all stiffness and formality will 
ultimately disappear. 

All that can be accomplished within the limits of a work like 
this, is to. point out the errors and improprieties into -which the’ 
pupil is most likely to fall, and furnish the most important rules 
for his guidance, with illustrations and copious examples for 
his practice. ‘The intelligent teacher will find new examples in 
every lesson, and by constantly referring his pupils to the princi- 
ples here laid down, and illustrating them in new and attractive 
ways, may render their application easy and habitual. 


The subject of Elocution, so far as it is deemed applicable to a 
work of this kind, will be considered under the following heads, 
VIZ; 


ARTICULATION, 

INFLECTION, 

. ACCENT AND Empuasis, 

. INSTRUCTIONS FOR READING VERSE, 

. DirecTIONS FOR THE CULTIVATION AND MANAGEMENT OF 
THE VOICE, 

6. GESTURE. 


Questions. 1. What is the first step to be taken in forming the habit 
of correct reading? 2. How are faults in articulation generally contracted ? 
3. How are these to be corrected? 4. How is a monotonous style often 
formed? 5. How is it to beavoided? 6. After it has become habitual, how 
is it to be remedied? 7. What is it designed to accomplish in the present 
work? 8. Name the different heads under which the subject of Elocution 
is to be considered. 


; OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 3g 15 


-, SECTION I. 
ARTICULATION. 
I. Faults to be Remedied, and Exercises. 


oe 


Bsrore passing on to the rules and exercises, by meaus of 
which it is hoped the pupil will be able to acquire a good articu- 
lation, it will be proper to point out a few of those improptieties, 
into»which a careless or badly taught reader or speaker is mest 
likely to fall. 


The most common and objectionable are the following, Viz: 


1. Dropping or sounding too slightly the unaccented vowels, 
and such as have only the secondary accent ;——thus, 


Com-pa-ny is incorrectly pronownc- | col-o-ny col’ny. 

ed comp’ny. har-mo-ny ~harm’ny. 
gran-a-ry gran’ry. a-ban-don + a-ban-d’n. 
1m-mor-tal im-mor-t’l, reg-u-lar reg’ lar. 
mock-e-ry_ - mock’ry. par-tic-u-lar “.__ par-tie’ lar. 
lam-ent-a-tion lam’n-ta-tion. | sin-gu-lar sin-g’ lar. 
in-clem-ent in-clem’nt. cal-cu-la-tion cal-el’a-sh’n. 
des-ti-ny des-t’ny. cir-cu-la-tion “-eir-c’la-sh’n 
u-ni-vers-i-ty u-ni-vers’ty. na-tion “-na-sh’n. 
un-cer-tain un-cer-t’n. - oc-ca+sion is oe: *€a- sh’n. 


2. Similar to the preceding fault is that of ineorrecth y sound- 
ing the unaccented vowel; as in the following examples. 


Par-tic-u-lar is incorrectly pronoune- | ef-fort uf-fort. 

ed per-tik-e-lwr. ter-ri-ble twr-rub-ble. 
lam-ent-a-tion lum-wn-ta-tion. | sen-si-ble sen-sub-ble. 
e-tern-al e-tern-wl. fel-o-ny _ fel-er-ny. 
ob-sti-nate ob-stun-it. mel-o-dy : mel-er-dy. 
de-cent de-sunt. > fel-low-ship fel-ler-ship. 
sys-tem sys-tuwm, or cal-cu-late cal-ker-late, 

sys-tim. cir-cu-lar cir-ky-ler. 

e-vent uv-ent. reg-u-lar reg-gy-lur 


EXERCISES. 8 SR x: 


In the following sentences, the vowels most likely to be drop- 
ped or incorrectly sounded are put in 2¢falics. 


He attended divine service regularly. 

This is my particular request. 

He gradwated at one of the Eastern Unzversities. 
She zs unzversally esteemed. 

George is sensible of his fault. 

This calculation zs incorrect. 

His fears were justified by the event. 

What a terrible calamity. 

I will swpport the Constztution of thé United States. 
The whole natzon lamented him. 


16 M'GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


His eye through vast zmmensity can pierce. 
Observe these nice dependencies. 

He is a formidable adversary. 

Away! presumptuous man. 

I wil! go and be reconciled to my brother. 

He zs generous to his friends. 

A tempest desolated the land. 

His reputation is ruzned. 

He preferred death to servitude. 

God 7s the author of all things viszble and invisible. 
He is a man of eminent merit. 

ixpect not my commendation. 

Caius’ countenance fell. 

He has contracted a bad habit. 

Tell me the difference between articulatéon and utterance. 
He was delighted with the exhzbition. 


3. Another very common fault is that of suppressing the 
Jinal consonants, or failing to give them sufficient distinctness. 


EXAMPLES. 


John an’ James are frien’s 0’ my father. 

Boun’ han’ an’ foot. 

Gi’ me some bread. 

Tuf’s 0’ grass. 

The want 0’ men is occasioned by the want 0’ money. 
We seldom fin’ men o’ principle to ac’ thus. 

Beas’ an’ creepin’ things were foun’ there. 

Thrus’ thy'sickle into the harves’. 

Thou has’ thousan’ frien’s on thy side. 

Evenin’ an’ mornin’, an’ at noon o’ night. - 


EXERCISES. 


He learned to write. 

Did you find any birds’ nests? 

He made his meal of an apple and an egg. 
The masts of the ship were cast down. 

He entered the lisfs at the head of his troops. 
Be ye wise as serpenés, and harmless as doves. 
He is the merriest fellow in existence. 

I regard not the world’s opinion. 

Such were his commands. 

He has three assistanés. 

Thou thoughtesf that I was suen a one as thyself, 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. © 17 


The deptis of the sea. 


She trus¢s too much to servanis. 
He halts between two opinions. 
His attemp¢s were fruitless. 

That race of animals is extinef. 
He chanced to see a bee hovering over a flower. 


4; A fourth impropriety consists in omitting or mispro- 
nouncing whole syllables. ‘This generally occurs in long words, 
and in those syllables which are not under the accent. 


EXAMPLES. 


Lit-er-a-ry is ¢mproperly pronounced 


ne-ces-sa-ry i 
co-tem-po-ra-ry ‘° 
ex-tem-po-ra-ry ‘ 
het-e-ro-ge-ne-ous ** 
in-quis-it-o-ri-al  ¢ 
mis-er-a-ble v3 
tol-er-a-ble + 
con-fed-e-ra-cy 
ac-com-pa-ni-ment 


66 


66 


EXERCISES. 


lit-ry. 

nes-ces-ry or nes-ry. 
co-tem-po-ry. 
ex-tem-po-ry. 
het-ro-ge-nous. 
in-quis-it-o-ral. 
mis-rer-ble. 
tol-rer-ble. 
con-fed-rer-cy. 
ac-comp-ner-ment. 


He devoted his attention chiefly to literary pursuits. 
He is a miserable creature. 


He is a venerable man. 


His faults were owing to the degeneracy of the times. 
The manuscript was undecipherable. 


The confederacy continued for many years. 


His spirit was unconguerable. 
It was a grand accompaniment. 


Luther and Melancthon were cotemporaries. 


Great industry was necessary for the performance of the task. 


5. Another very great fault in articulation, is that of blending 
the end of one word with the beginning of the next. 


1 court thy gif sno more. 


“Bag sof gold. 
Han d’me the slate. 


EXAMPLES. 


The grove swere God sfir stemples. 
This worl dis all a fleeting show, 


For man sillusion given. 


% 


18 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


My hear ¢was-a mirror, that show’ devery treasure, 
It reflecte deach beautiful blosso mof pleasure. 


EXERCISES. 


The magistrates ought to arrest the rogues speedily 
Life flutters convulsed in his quivering limbs. 

The whirlwinds sweep the plain. 

He went over the mountain. 

Linked to thy side, through every chance I go. 

But had he seen an actor in our days enacting Shakspeare. 
Which is the way ? 

What awful sounds assail my ears? 

We caught a glimpse of her. 

Into the woods he takes a stroll. 

Crowded houses and new pieces. 

Old age has on their temples shed her silver frost. 
Our eagle shall rise ’mid the whirlwinds of war, 
And dart through the dun cloud of battle his eye. 
Then honor shall weave of the laurel a crown, 
That beauty shall bind on the brow of the brave. 


QuESTIONS.—1. What is the first source of defective articulation that 
isnamed? 2. Giveexamples. 3. What is the second? 4. Give examples. 
5. Name the third, and give examples. 6. What is the fourth? 7. Give 
examples. 8. Describe the fifth fault, and illustrate by examples. 


Il. Directions for acquiring a good Articulation, and Exercises. 


We now pass to the consideration of those methods by which 
improprieties, like those already pointed out, may be avoided, 
and a distinct and forcible articulation acquired. 

Articulation is defined by Webster to be, “The forming of 
words by the human voice.”” Words being made up of one or 
more sounds, represented in written language by letters, the first 
object of the student of elocution should be, to acquire the power 
of uttering all those elements with distinctness and force; for if 
the elementary sounds are but imperfectly formed, the entire 
word must be indistinct. Practice upon these elementary sounds 
should be persevered in, until the learner has acquired a perfect 
control of his organs of speech. ‘This exercise is one of great 
importance, especially to those who design becoming public 
speakers, as, in addition to the -habit of correct articulation thus 
formed, it imparts a strength and efficiency to the voice, which 
cannot be acquired in any other way. 

As the vowels are the most prominent elements of all words, 


OF THE ELECTIC*SERIES. 19 


as well as the most easily uttered, it is proper that they should 
constitute the first lesson. 


Vowel Hlements. 


a as heard in fate, muin, say, they, fecnt, weigh, break, &c. 

a <s ber, car, ah, vaunt, heart, guard, &c. 

a <«« & ball, hall, cause, saw, broad, groat, sought, &c. 

2 nat, hat, partial, de. 

& % % feel, me, sea, netther, key, sexze, pzece, marine, people, &c. 

e * & Jef, met, tread, said, says, friend, hecfer, leopard, guess, 
many, bury, &c. 

* jf «©  & mine, pine, lie, fly, height, guise, azsle, rye, &c. 

i 6  & pit, pin, mountain, forfeit, guclt, been, sezve, busy, car- 
riage, &e. 

o & old, go, dvor, roam, toe, soul, though, hollow, bureau, 
shew, yeoman, &c. 

o *¢ 6% =~ 6 move, prove, moon, soup, shoe, &c. 

o & 666 Not, hot, what, was, swap, &c. 

*¥y “* & yule, muse, blue, juice, hew, view, adieu, leu, feud, 
beauty, &c. 

u  « & full, pull, wool, good, book, could, &c. 

u  % & but, hut, cwll, dove, son, blood, does, &c. 

Wit "Ss. S eunl. fur, bard, her, dc. 

*oi pozl, od), boy, &c. 

ou“ * our, ground, owl, power, &c. 


Explosion of the Vowel Sounds. 


Kach of the preceding elements can be uttered with great sud- 
denness and force, so as to give a distinct expression of its sound, 
although the voice is suddenly suspended, the moment the 
sound is produced. ‘This is done by expelling each sound from 
the throat in the same manner that the syllable “ah !’’ is uttered 
in endeavoring to deter a child from something it is about to 
do; thus, a’—a—a’—. Let the pupil be required to explode 
from the throat, in this manner, every one of the elements in the 
preceding table, with all possible suddenness and percussive 
force, until he is able to do it with ease and accuracy. ‘This 
must not be considered as accomplished, until he can give each 
sound with entire clearness, and with all the suddenness of the 
‘‘crack”’ of a rifle. Care must be taken to ayoid all aspiration, 
as the sound of the vowel alone should be heard. 

This exploding of the vowel sounds is an exercise of great 


* Although these are properly compound sounds, they are classed here for 
tle convenience of practice. 


20 MGUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


importance and value in strengthening and developing the voice, 
but it is one that must be resolutely persevered in, without 
regard to its seeming absurdity, by those who wish to reap any 
advantage from it. 


Nore. After the pupil has been faithfully exercised in the foregoing 
table, it will be well to require him to explode all the vowel elements in one 
or more sentences of every lesson he reads. 


Consonant Elements. 


It may, at first view, seem impossible to give the sound of a 
consonant without the aid of a vowel sound; but a few attempts 
will show, that although it may be difficult to unpracticed 
organs, it is not impossible. It is true, they cannot be exploded 
with the force which vowel sounds admit, yet they can all, 
except the mutes, k, ¢, and p, be pronounced without the aid of 
vowels, and their sound prolonged so as to give them great dis- 
tinctness. Let the syllable ba be taken for example; and in 
pronouncing it, let the voice be suddenly suspended, before it 
passes to the vowel. In this manner every consonant element 
should be practiced upon, until the pupil can give the sound 
forcibly and distinctly. Without such practice it will be found 
impossible to utter with dictinctness, such combinations of con- 
sonants as the following, viz: waftedst, slumber’dst, search’ dst, 
lash’dst, &c. Articulation is more frequently defective from an 
indistinct or imperfect enunciation of the consonant sounds, than 
from any other cause; and as many syllables are composed chief- 
Jy of consonant sounds, it is of the utmost importance that the 
student should master them. And it may here be remarked for 
the encouragement of the pupil, that in reading or speaking to a 
large audience, he who explodes the consonants with accuracy 
and precision, will be heard and understood, even though his 
voice be weak; while the speaker who mumbles or slurs them, 
may put forth his utmost power of vociferation, and yet fail in 
his efforts to become distinctly audible. 


The following are the consonant elements susceptible of. 
explosive force in a greater or less degree : 


b as heard in babe. s as heard in sap, pass. 

d a dead. Vv a value. 

f 2 fief. rie ay. $$ yes. 

g . gag. Z . zeal, adz. 

h he hat. ng ps ring. 

j ef jade, large. th ad thine, tithe. 
1 4 loll. th 66 thrust, north. 
m es main. ch ss church. : 
n * - moon. 3 sh “4 shine, dash. 
r 


“6 roar. wh a6 what, whine, 


* 


OF fHE ECLECTIC SERIES. 21 


The mutes k, f, and p, are omitted, because they produce an 
entire occlusion of the voice, and cannot be sounded without the 
aid of avowel. @ and w are also omitted, as the former has 
the same sound as £; and the latter is in fact a vowel, having 
the sound of 00. 

When the pupil has acquired some facility in exploding the 
foregoing consonant elements, it will be found profitable to re- 
quire him to combine with each of them, one of the vowel ele- 
ments, giving the utmost prolongation to the consonant sound ; 
thus, ab--b ; eb--b ; ib--b 3 ad——-d; ed—-d; id--d; &c. &c. 
Then let him go over the same exercise, placing the consonant 
first; thus, b—be ; d—de ; g—ga; m—mo; &c. &e. 

If the foregoing elementary exercises be but faithfully and 
perseveringly practiced, the result--a well developed voice, and 
perfect control of the organs of speech,—will amply repay the 
labor. 

EXERCISES 


In the Combinations of the Consonant Elements 


* He is a man of great senszbiléty and suscepébility. 
The swallow twié/ered at the eaves. 
Canst thou not be satisfied? 

He begged to be permitted to stay. 

They searched the house speedily. 
Whelmed amidst the waves. 
They-dragged the ruffian to prison. 
Bursting his bonds, he sprang upon the foe. 
He cannot tolerate a papist. 

Shot madly from its sphere. 

When will the landscape tire the view ? 
The lightnings flashed. 

The thunders roared.. 

The hail rattled. 

His hand in mine was fondly clasped. 
Stand your ground, my braves. 

He gasped for breath. 

Pil grapple with my couniry’s foes. 

His limbs were strengthened by exercise. 
They cultivated shrubs and plans. 

He has marshaled his hosts. 

He selected his texts with great care. 
The unsearched mine hath not such gems. 


* It will be seen that some of these sentences are selected with reference 
to the correction of the habit of dropping, or improperly sounding the unac- 
cented vowel. 4 


‘ 
22 WGUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


His lips grow resiless, and his smile is eur/ed half into scorn, 
Her ways are ways of pleasantness, ! 

And all her paths are peace. 

He has singed his hair. 

What further waid’st thou for? 

She milked six cows. 

Give me a yard and three eighths. 

Ha! laugh’st thou, Lochiel, my vision to scorn ? 
The chill precincts of the narrow house. 

O! breeze that waft’st me on my way. 

Thou prov’dst his wounds too freely. 2 
Thou begg’dst in vain for mercy. 

Thou wrong’dst thyself and me. 

Thou troubl’dst thy father’s friends. 

Vauni’st thou thyself of thy strength ? 

Thou boas?’st of what should be thy shame. 

Thou pluck’dst a bitter fruit. 

Disabl’dst, strangl’dst, burn’dst. 

Clasp’dst, twinkl’dst, respect’st. 

Lash’dst, haggl’dst, swerv’dst. 

From depths unknown, unsearchable, profound, 
Forth rushed the wandering comets girt with flames. 
When Ajaz sirives some rock’s vast weight to throw, 
The line too labors and the words move slow. 

One blast upon his bugle-horn were worth ten thousand men. 


Life’s * fitful * fever over, he rests well. 
This scu/ptor has executed three busts. 


From peak to peak, the radt/ing crags among, 
Leaps the live thunder; not from one lone cloud ; 
But every mountain now hath found a tongue, 
And Jura answers from her misty shroud, 

Back to the joyous A/ps, which call to her aloud. 


Thou that dost scare the world with tempests set on fire, 
The heavens with falling thunderbolts, or fill 

The swift dark whirlwind that uproots the woods, 
Where is the mor/al, that forgets not at the sight 

Of these tremendous tokens of thy power 

His pride, and lays his * strifes and follies by? 


Canst thou fill hzs * skin with barbed irons 2 
He yee distinguished for his conscientiousness. 


ee eee 


* Beware of running words together. 


"He « 
OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. ~ 23 


From star to star the living lightnings flash, 
And falling thunders through all space proclaim 
The goings forth of Him whose potent arm 
Perpetuates* existence or destroys. 


God journeyeth* in the heavens. Refulgent stars 
And glittering crowns of prostrate seraphim 


Emboss* his burning path. Around* him fall 
Dread powers, dominions, hosts, and kingly thrones. 


That morning, thou that slumber’dst not before, 
Nor sleep’st, great Ocean, laid’st thy waves* at rest, 
And hush’dst thy mighty minstrelsy.. 


Questions. 1. What is Webster’s definition of Articulation? 2. O° 
what are words made up? 3. How are sounds represented in written lan- 
guage? 4. What should be the first object of the student of elocution ? 
5. What is said of the advantage of practice upon elementary sounds? 6. 
- Which are the vowel elements? 7. Give examples of each. (Let the pupil 

explode them as directed.) 8. What are the advantages of thus explodin 
the elementary sounds? 9. Can the consonants be exploded? 10. Which 
cannot, and why? 11. What is said of uttering the consonants distinctly ? 
12. Repeat the consonant elements, and give an example of each. (Let the 
pupil explode them as directed.) 13. What will be the result of faithful 
practice in these exercises ? 


“SECTION II. 
INFLECTIONS. 


I. Definitions and Exemples. 


INFLECTION is a bending, or sliding of the voice either upwurd ~ 
or downward. 

The upward,or rising inflection is marked by the acute ac- 
cent, thus, (/); and in this case the voice is to slide upward ; 
as, Did you call’? Is he sick’? 

The downward, or. falling inflection is marked by the grave 
accent, thus, (‘); and indicates that the voice is to slide down- 
ward; as, Where is London’? Where have you been‘? Who 
has come’? . 

Sometimes both the’ rising and falling inflection are given to 
the same sound. Such sounds are designated by the eircumflex, 
thus, (~), or (A). The former is called the rising circwm- 
flex; the latter, the falling circumflex. 

When several successive syllables are uttered without either 
the upward or downward slide, they are said to be uttered in a 
monotone, which is marked thus, (—). 


—r mm, 


* Beware of running words together, 


on 


ns " 


24 MGUFFEY’S RHETORICAL. GUIDE 
EXAMPLES. 
Does he read correctly’, or incorrectly“? 


In reading this sentence, the voice should slide somewhat as 
represented in the following diagram : 


ty . 
C 

ws : Op, 

Does he read cor- *© or Seely 4 


If you said vinegar, I said sligar. 
To be read thus: 


splint ir 
b 7 Rue, At 
If you said pie ON EN 8 


If you said yés, I said nd. 
To be read thus: 

J Sy gigs 
If you said Kes I said %—~2 
What’, did he say no’? 
To be read thus: 


XN , 
aed’, n, 
we aid he say eo 
He did‘, he said no‘. 
To be read thus: 
e 2 
He NX@, he said 
Did he do it voluntarily’, or involuntarily‘? 


To be read thus: 


; 
wrigsirowoy : | 
ase Lots, 

Did he do-it <° or <é 


He did it voluntarily‘, not involuntarily’ 


To be read thus. 


by <4: 
Neon, gt 
Dp! AD 
é Lf; Pb A Rhy 
Hea did it <2 not <i 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 25 


EXERCISES. 


. Do they act prudently’, or imprudently‘? 
Are they at home’, or abroad‘? 
Is he willing’, or unwilling"? 
Did you say Europe’, or Asia‘? 
Is he rich’, or poor? 
Are they old’, or young"? 

_ He said pain‘, not pain’. 
You should walk’, not ride’. 
Are you engaged’, or at leisure‘? 
Did he say hand’, or arm‘? 
He said turn‘, not urn’. 
She dances gracefully’, not ungracefully’. 
Shall I say plain’, or pain‘? 
He went home’, not abroad’. 
Does he say able’, or table‘? 
He said hazy’, not lazy . 
Must I say flat’, or flat‘? 
Must I say cap’, or cap‘? 
You should say flat‘, not flat’. 
He said burn‘, not burn’. 
Tt shall go hard with me but I shall Gse the weapon. 
®! but he patised upon the brink. 
My father’, must I stay’? 


As we cannot discern the shadow moving along the face of the dial- 
plate’, so the advances in knowledge are only perceived by the dis- 
tance gone over". 


Heard ye those loud contending waves, 
That shook Cecropia’s pillared state’? 
Saw ye the mighty from their graves 
Look up,’ and tremble at her fate’? 


Borne by the tide of words along’, 

One voice’, one mind’, inspired the throng’; 
“To arms‘! to arms‘! to arms'!’’ they cry’; 
‘‘Grasp‘ the shield’, and draw’ the sword'; 
Lead’ us to Philippi’s lord’; 

Let us conquer’ him or die*.” 


First’, Fear‘, his hand’, its skill to try’, 

Amid the chords bewildered laid‘ ; 

And back recoiled‘, he knew not why’, 

F’en at the sound himself’ had made’. 
2 


7 


26 ; M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


Who knoweth the power of thine anger‘? Even according to thy 
fear’, so is thy wrath’. 


Where are your gibes‘ now? your gambols"? your songs‘? your 
flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table in a roar’? 

Thus saith the High and lofty One that inhabiteth etémity, whose 
name is Hily; ‘I dwéll in the high and hdly place.” 


Questions. 1. What is inflection? 2. How does the voice slide in the 
rising inflection? 3. Give an example. 4. How, in the falling inflection ? 
5. Give anexample. 6. How are these inflections marked? 7. Define the 
circumflex. 8. ‘I'he monotone. 9 Give anexample of each. [See General 
Examples.] 


Il. Rules for the use of Inflections. 


FALLING INFLECTION. 


Pure I. Wherever the sense is complete, whether at the 
close of a sentence, or at any other part of it, the falling inflec- 
is generally proper. 

EXAMPLES. 


By virtue we secure happiness‘. 


And seeing the multitude, he went up into a mountain‘, and when 
he was set, his disciples came unto him‘. 


“Thou art a good natured soul’, I will answer for thee',’”? said my 
uncle Toby’. 


One deed of shame is succeeded by years of penitence’. 


The warrior bowed his crested head‘, and tamed his heart of fire’, 
And sued his haughty king to free his long imprisoned sire’. 


The breeze of night hath sunk to rest, 

Upon the river’s tranquil breast’, 

And every bird hath sought her nest, 
Where silent is her minstrelsy*. 


Remark. In sentences like the following, although the first clause may 
make complete sense, yet, as the idea intended to be conveyed, is not com- 
plete without the succeeding part, the falling inflection is not proper until the 
close of the sentence. 


Beauty appears beautiful’, only when united with purity and kind- 
ness’, 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 27 


Persons of good taste expect to be pleased’, at the same time that 


they are informed". 


* 


Exceptions. 1. Negative sentences. See Rule V. 


» 


2. Antithesis, in cases where the first member requires the 
filing inflection. See Rule IX., and Exception to 
Rule IV. ' 

3. Where harmony of sound requires the rising inflection, 
even though the sense should be complete. See 
Rule’ Viv >: 

4. Emphasis. See Rule II., and Article on Emphasis and In- 
flection, page 42. 


Rute II. The language of emphasis inclines to the use of 
the falling inflection. 


EXAMPLES. 


1. Imperative Mood. 


The combat deepens: On‘, ye brave, 
Who rush to glory or the grave! 
Wave, Munich, all thy banners wave’! 
And charge‘ with all thy chivalry. 


Did ye not hear it?—No ; ’t was but the wind, 
Or the car rattling o’er the stony street; 
On‘ with the dance! let joy be unconfined. 


Charge’, Chester, charge’, On‘, Stanley, on*, 
Were the last words of Marmion. 


Now set’ the teeth, and stretch‘ the nostril wide; 
Hold hard’ the breath, and bend‘ up every spirit 
To its full’height! Qn‘, on‘, you noble English, 
Whose blood is fetched from fathers of war-proof ! 


Remark. When the imperative mood is used to express gentle entreaty, 
the rising inflection is sometimes used ; as, Let him come back’; Leave me 
not' in this extremity. So also, desire is often expressed by the rising inflec- 
tion; as, O that they understood this', that they would consider their danger", 


2. Emphatie Exclamation. 


* 


Fierce they fought : 
The stranger fell; and with his dying breath 
Declared his name and lineage. Mighty God"! 
The soldier cried, my brother! oh‘, my brother‘! 


* 


Thou slave’! thou wretch’! thou toward! 
Thou little valiant, great in villainy! 


Ah me’! how weak a thing 
The heart of woman is! 


28 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


3. Emphatic repetition. 

And the king was much moved, and went up to the chamber over 
the gate, and wept; and as he went, thus he said; O my son Absa- 
lom’! my son’, my son Absalom"! would to God I had died for thee, 
O Absalom’, my son’, my son"! 


4, Simple emphasis. 
Deem our nation brutes no longer, 
Till some reason ye shall find 
Worthier of regard and stronger, 
Than the color‘ of our kind. 


Hast thou not spoke like thunder on my side? 
Been sworn my soldier’? bidding me depend 
Upon thy* stars, thy‘ fortune, and thy strength’? 

Remark. Emphasis, in some few cases, reverses the principle of this rule, 
and requires the rising tnflection, apparently for the purpose of calling atten- 
tion to the idea, by an unusual manner of expressing it. See Art. on Em- 

phasis, pages 39, 42. 

Rute Ill. Interrogative sentences, and members of sentences 

which cannot be answered by “ yes’’ or *‘ no,”’ terminate with the 


falling inflection. 
EXAMPLES. 


How many books did he purchase"? 


What see‘ you, that you frown so heavily‘? 
Why shares he not our hunter’s fare"? 


They tell thee that thou art wise; but what does wisdom avail with 
the poor‘? None flatter the poor. 


What is the usual consequence of this foolish regard to the opin- 
ions of others‘? What the end of thus acting in compliance with cus- 
tom, in opposition to one’s own convictions of duty"? 


But how long’ will’it be, ere you surmount every difficulty, and 
draw around you patrons and friends, and rise in the confidence and 
support of all who know‘ you? 


My fault is past.—But oh! what form of prayer 
Can serve my tur"? 
EXCEPTION. , When questions which would naturally take the falling in. 
flection, become emphatic, or are repeated, they often receive the rising in- 


flection ; as, ‘‘ Where’ did you say he has gone’?”’ ‘‘T’o whom' do you im- 
pute the blame ?’’ 


; - valet 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 29 


RISING INFLECTION. 


Rute IV. ‘The introductory part of a sentence, where the 
sense is left incomplete, generally has the rising inflection. 


EXAMPLES. 


A chieftain to the Highlands bound’, 
Cries’, ‘‘ Boatman, do not tarry.” 


If you will now be persuaded to entertain the like sentiments , you 
may yet recall those epportunitics which your supineness has ne- 


glected. 


If, then, his Providence’, 
Out of our evil seek to bring forth good’, 
Our labor must be to prevent that end. 


As he spoke without fear of consequences’, so his actions were 
marked with the most unbending resolution. 


He’, born for the universe’, narrowed his mind, 
And to party gave up what was meant for mankind. - 


I’, from the orient to the drooping west’, 
Making the wind my post-horse’, still unfold 
The acts commenced on this ball of earth. 


Nature being exhausted’, he quietly resigned himself to his fate. 
As the whirlwind passeth’, so is the wicked no more. 
The nominative addressed, is included under this head. 


_O Warwick’, I do bend my knee with thine, 
And, in this vow’, do chain my soul to thine. 


Brother’, give me thy hand; and, gentle Warwick’, 
Let me en:brace thee in my weary arms. 


O Lancaster’, I fear thy overthrow. 
* 


Exceptions. 1. When the antithesis, or relative emphasis requires that the 
introductory clause should receive the failing inflection. 
See Rule IX. 
2. Where the nominative addressed i is emphatic or commences 
a speech. 


30 M’GUFFEY’S RHETCRICAL GUIDE 


EXAMPLES OF EXCEPTION. 
If you care not for your property‘, you surely love your life’. 


If you will not labor for your own bh a a you should regard 
that of your children’. 


It is your place to obey’, not to command’. 


Though by such a course, he should not destroy his reputation’, he 
will lose all self-respect’. 


O Hubert’, Hubert‘, save me from these men. 


Romans, countrymen, and lovers‘, hear me for my cause, &c. 


Rute V. Negative sentences, or members of sentences, gen 
erally end with the rising inflection. 


EXAMPLES. 


My Lord, we could not have had such designs’; they would have 
been unworthy both of us and you. 


It shields not only the dust of the humble’; but the titled and the 
great are beneath its spreading branches. 


It is not sufficient that you wish’ to be useful; you must nurse 
those wishes into action. — 


It is not for your silver bright’; 


But for your winsome lady. 
‘ 


I did not mean to*complain’, I believe I am contented with my lot. 
You need not be alarmed’, or offended’. 


You are not left alone’, to climb the steep ascent’;—God is with 
you, who never suffers the spirit which rests on him to fail’, nor th 
man who seeks his favor, to seek in vain". 


Not such wert thou of yore’, ere yet the ax 
Had smitten the old woods. 


Do not slight him because of his humility’, but cherish him for his 
many virtues. 
Ex2erticns. 1. Emphasis; as, ‘‘ We repeat it, we do not‘ desire to produce 


discord ; we do not‘ wish to kindle the flames of a civil 
war.’ 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 81 


=) 


2. General propositions ; as, ‘‘ God is not the author of sin'.’’ 
‘«'Thou shalt not kill’.’”’ 


* 


Rutz VI. When a sentence closes with the falling inflection, 
the rising inflection should generally be used, for the sake of 
harmony, at the last pause before the close. 


EXAMPLES. 
Charles was extravagant’, and by this means’ became poor’. 


He was a great statesman’, and he was an amiable man’. 


The mountains will be dissolved‘, and the earth will vanish’, but 
God will never cease to exist’. 


Illustrations of this principle may also be found under rule XI. 


Remark. Emphasis may reverse this rule. See examples of exception to 
Rule IV. . 

Rute Vil. Interrogative sentences ana members of senten- 
ces, which can be answered by * yes’’ or ‘*no,”? must generally 
close with the rising inflection. 


EXAMPLES. 


Can you repeat the seventh rule’? 
Has John returned’? 
Will no one help or save’? 


What! canst thou not spare me half an hour’? 


‘‘Ts he in the army, then’?”’ said my uncle Toby. 


If it be admitted, that strict integrity is not always the shortest 
way to success, is it not the surest’, the happiest’, the best’? 


Will not a fair character’, an approving conscience’, and an ap- 
.oving God, be an abundant compensation for a little delay’? 


Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens, 
To wash this crimson hand as white as snow’? 


Exception. When questions, which require the rising inflection, become 
garticularly emphatic, by repetition or otherwise, the falling inflection is often 
used; as, ‘‘ Can‘ you be so blind to your interest ? will‘ you rush headlong 
to destruction ?’’ ‘‘ I ask again, is‘ there no hope of reconciliation? must‘ we 
abandon all our fond anticipations ?’’ 


32 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


Remark. The answers to all questions, though they generally have the fall- 
‘ ing inflection, are governed, with regard to their inflections, by the principles 
applicable to other sentences. 


Rous VIII. Teta exclamations, and words repeated 
as a kind of echo to the thought, require the rising inflection. 


- 
EXAMPLES. 


Ha’! laughest thou, Lochiel, my vision to scorn 2 
g : » my 


And this fellow calls himself a painter. A painter’! He is not fit 
to daub the sign of a paltry ale-house. 


And this man is called a statesman. <A statesman’! Why, he 
never invented even a decent humbug. 


Six moons are his, by Herschel shown; 
Herschel’, of modern times the boast. 


Sir, I should be much surprised to hear the motion made by the 
honorable gentleman, opposed by any member of this house. A mo- 
tion’, founded in justice, supported by precedent, and warranted by 
necessity. 


a 


I cannot say, sir, which of these motives influence the advocates 
of the bill before us; a bill’, in which such cruelties are proposed as 
are yet unknown among the most savage nations. 


The man who was not only pardoned, but distinguished by you 
with the highest honors, is charged with an intention to kill you in 
your own house. An intention’, of which, unless you imagine that 
he is utterly deprived of reason, you cannot suspect him. 


BOTH INFLECTIONS. 
Antithesis. 


Rure IX. The different members of a sentence expressing 
an antithesis, or contrast, require different inflections; generally, 
the rising inflection in the former member, and the falling inflec- 
tion in the latter. Sometimes, however, this order is reversed 


EXAMPLES. 


The style of Dryden is capricious and varied’; that of Pope is cau- 
tious and uniform‘. Dryden obeys the motions of his own mind’; 
Pope constrains his mind to his own rules cf composition’. Dryden 
is sometimes vehement and rapid’; Pope is always smooth, uniform, 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 30 


and gentle’. Dryden’s page is a natural field, rising into inequalities, 
varied by exuberant vegetation’; Pope’s is a velvet lawn, shaven by 
the sythe and leveled by the roller’. 

If the flights of Dryden are higher’, Pope continues longer on the 
wing’. If the blaze of Dryden’s fire is brighter’, the heat of Pope’s 
is more regular and constant’. Dryden often surpasses’ expectation, 
and Pope never falls below’ it. ' 


We are troubled on every side’, yet not distressed’; perplexed’, yet 
not in despair’; persecuted’, but not forsaken’; cast down’, but not de- 
stroyed*. 


Ruts X. ‘The different members of a sentence united by or, 
used disjunctively, require the rising inflection at the first mem- 
ber, and the falling inflection at the second member. 


= 


EXAMPLES. 


Shall we advance’, or retreat‘? 


Do you seek wealth’, or power“? 
Is the great chain upheld by God’, or thee. 


“¢ Come, honesty ,” said I, *‘ art thou for coming in’, or going out'?” 


Are they those whom want compels to toil for their daily meal and 
nightly pillow’, or those whose necessities are ministered to by a hun- 
dred hands besides their own‘? 


Shall we now return to our allegiance, while we may do so with 
safety and honor’, or shall we wait until the ax of the executioner is 
at our throats‘? 


Remark. Observe, that this rule applies only to or used disjunctively 
When used conjunctively, the same inflection is used in each member ; as 
Can wealth’, or honor’, or pleasure’, satisfy the immortal soul’? 


Series. 


A series is a number of particulars, immediately following one 
another. When a series begins a sentence, but does not end it, 
it is called a commencing series; where it ends the sentence, 
whether it begins it or not, it is called a concluding series. 


Rote XI. Jn a commencing series, the last member must 
have the rising inflection, and all the others, the falling inflection. 


34 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


In a concluding series, the last member but one must have the 
rising inflection ; all the others, the falling inflection. 


EXAMPLES OF COMMENCING SERIES. 


To advise the ignorant’, relieve the needy‘, comfort the afflicted’, 
are duties that fall in our way, almost every day of our lives. 


yg 
@ 


War", famine’, pest‘, volcano‘, storm‘, and fire’, % 
Intestine broils , oppression with her heart 
Wrapped up in triple brass’, besiege mankind’. 


The miser is more industrious than the saint. The pains of get- 
ting’, the fear of losing‘, and the inability of enjoying’ his wealth, 
have been the mark of satire in all ages. 


The inconveniences of attendance on great men are more lamented 
than felt. To the greater number, solicitation is its own reward. To 
be seen in good company , to talk of familiarities with men in power’, 
to be able to tell the freshest news‘, to gratify an inferior circle with 
predictions of increase or decline of favor‘, and to be regarded as a 
candidate for high offices’, are compensations more than equivalent to 
the delay of favors, which, perhaps, he that asks them, has hardly 
the confidence to expect. 


Let a man’s innocence be what it will’, let his virtues arise to the 
highest pitch attainable in this life’, there will still be in him so ma- 
ny secret sins‘, so many human frailties‘, so many offenses of igno- 
rance, passion, and prejudice‘, so many unguarded words and thoughts’, 
and, in short, so many defects in his best actions’, that without the 
advantage of such an expiation and atonement as christianity has re- 
vealed to us, it is impossible that he should be cleared before his sov- 
ereion Judge. 


The wise’ and the foolish’, the virtuous’ and the evil‘, the learned’ 
and the ignorant’, the temperate‘ and the profligate’,—must often be 
blended together. 


A royalist‘, a republican’ and an emperor‘, a Mohammedan‘, a Cath- 
olic’ and a patron of the synagogue’, a subaltern’ and a sovereign’, a 
traitor’ and a tyrant‘, a christian‘ and an infidel’, he was through all 
vicissitudes, the same stern, impatient, inflexible original. 


EXAMPLES OF CONCLUDING SERIES. 


A part how small of the terraqueous globe 
Is tenanted by man! the rest a waste’, 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 35 


Rocks’, deserts‘, frozen seas’, and burning sands’, 
Wild haunts of monsters, prisons, stings’, and death’. 
Such is earth’s melancholy mass. 


Charity is not puffed up‘, doth not behave itself unseemly’, seck- 
eth not her own’, is not easily provoked’, thinketh no evil’, rejoiceth 
in the truth’, beareth' all things, believeth‘ all things, hopeth’ all 
things, endureth' all things. 


Yet in these presages rude, 

’Midst her pensive solitude, 

Fancy, with prophetic glance, 

Sees the teeming months advance; 
The field‘, the forest’, green and gay, 
The dappled slope’, the tedded hay’; 
Sees the reddening orchard‘ blow, 
The harvest wave’, the vintage flow’; 
Sees June unfold her glossy robe 

Of thousand hues, o’er all the globe’; 
Sees Ceres grasp her crown of corn’, 
And Plenty load her ample horn’. 


There is no blessing of life comparable to the enjoyment of a dis- 
creet and virtuous friend. It eases and unloads the mind’, clears and 
improves the understanding", engenders thoughts and knowledge’, an- 
imates virtues and good resolutions’, and finds employment for the 
most vacant hours of life’. 


Inspiring rites! which stimulate fear‘, rouse hope‘, kindle zeal’, 
quicken dullness‘, sharpen discernment’, exercise memory’, and in- 
flame curiosity’. 


Nature has laid out all her art in beautifying the face; she has 
touched it with vermilion‘, planted it with a double row of ivory’, 
made it the seat of smiles and blushes‘, lighted it up and relieved it 
“with the brightness of the eyes‘, hung it on each side with curious 
organs of sense’, given it airs and graces which cannot be described’, 
and surrounded it with such a flowing shade of hair as sets all its 
beauties in the most agreeable light’. 


Nortz. In instances.of series, the falling inflection prevails, evidently 
upon the principle of emphasis. -Each word or member is to be specified 
with some degree of force, and this object is in part accomplished, by giving 
it the falling inflection. ‘'he last word or member but one receives the rising 
inflection, for the sake of harmony of sound, according to Rule V. Em- 
phasis, also, sometimes requires that every member should receive the fallin 
inflection. When, however, there is a series of words or members whic 


36 M’GUFFEY'S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


are not particularly emphatic, the rising or falling inflections are to be used, 
without reference to the particular character of the sentence as containing a 
series. In poetry, also, the rising inflection is more frequently used in sen- 
tences of this kind than in prose. See Article on Poetic Inflection, page 44. 


EXAMPLES. 


New York’, Boston’, and Philadelphia’, are large cities. | 


He was esteemed for his kindness’, his intelligence’, his self-deni- 
al’, and his active benevolence’. 


So, where the faithful pencil has designed 

Some bright idea of the master’s mind’; 

Where a new world leaps-out at his command, 

And ready nature waits upon his hand’; 

When the ripe colors soften and unite, 

And sweetly melt into just shade and light’; 

When mellowing years their full perfection give, 
And the bold figure just begins to live’; 

The treacherous colors, the fair art betray, 

And all the bright creation fades away"! 


Parenthesis. 

Rure XII. A clause included in a parenthesis, should be read 
more rapidly and in a lower tone than the rest of the sentence, 
and should terminate with the same inflection that next precedes 
it. If, however, it is complicated, or emphatic, or disconnected 
with the main subject, the inflections must be governed by the 
same rules as in other cases. 


EXAMPLES. | 
God is my witness’, (whom I serve with my spirit, in the gospel 
of his Son’,) that, without ceasing, I make mention of you always 
in my prayers, making request’, (if, by any means, now at length, 
I might have a prosperous journey by the will of God’,) to come unto 
you. 


‘When he had entered the room three paces, he stood still; and lay- 
‘ng his left hand upon his breast’, (a slender, white staff with which 
ne journeyed being in his right’,) he introduced himself with the lit- 
tle story of his convent. 


If you, schines, in particular, were persuaded’, (and it was no 
partial affection for me, that prompted you to give up the hopes, the 
appliances, the honors, which attended the course I then advised ; but 


w 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 37 


the superior force of truth, and your utter inability to point any course 


_ more eligible',) if this was the case, I say, is it not highly cruel and 


unjust to arraign these measures now, when you could not then pro- 
pose a better ? 


As the the hour of conflict drew near’ (and this was a conflict to be 
dreaded even by him'‘,) he began to waver and to abate much of his 
boasting. 

Circumflex. 

Rue XII. The circumflex is used to express irony, sarcasm, 
hypothesis, or contrast. 

EXAMPLES. 


But nobody can bear the death of Clédius. 
Man never is, but always to bé, blest. 


Théy follow an adventurer whom they féar; wé serve a monarch 
whom we love. They boast, they come but to improve our state, en- 
large our thoughts, and free us from the yoke of error. Yes, théy will 
give enlightened freedom to our minds, who are themsélves the 
slaves of passion, avarice and pride. They offer us their protection: 
yes, stich protection as viltures give to lambs, cOvering and devour- 
ing them. 

Monotone. 

Rute XIV. The use of the monotone is confined chiefly to 

grave and solemn subjects. When carefully and properly em- 


ployed, it gives great dignity to delivery. 


EXAMPLES. 


The unbeliever! one who can gaze upon the gin, and médn, and 
stars, and upon the unfading and impérishable sky, spread out so 
magnificently above him, and say, “All this is the work of chance.” 


God walketh on the écean. SGrilliantly 

The glassy waters mirror back his smiles ; 

The surging billows, and the gamboling storms 
Come créuching to his féét. 


{ hail thee, as in gorgeous robes, 

Blé6ming, thou léav’st the chambers of the éast, 
Crowned with a gémmed tiara thick embdssed 
With stids of living light. 


High on a throne of réyal state, which far 
Outshdne the wéalth of Ormus and the Ind ; 


38 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


Or where the gdrgeous éast, with richest hand, 
Showers on her kings, barbaric péarls and gdld, 
Satan exalted sat. 


His bréad expanded wings 

Lay calm and motionless upon the air, 
As if he floated thére without their aid, 
By the sole act of his unlorded will. 


Questions. 1. Name the several principles which govern the use of the * 
falling inflection. 2. Give an example of each. 3. In what cases, is the ris- 
ing inflection used? 4. Give eae 5. In what cases are the two inflec- 
tions united in the same sentence? 6. What is antithesis? 7. What is a 
series? 8. A commencing series ? °, A concluding series? 10. Give an 
example of each. 11. Give the rule for series. 12. For antithesis. 13. How 
does the disjunctive or influence the inflection? 14, Give an example. 15. 
What is the rule for infiection in a clause contained in a parenthesis? 16. 
When is the circumflex used? 17. When is the monotone used ? 


SECTION III. 
ACCENT AND EMPHASIS. 
Accent. 


ea syllable in any word which is uttered more forcibly 
chan the others, is said to be accented; as the italicized syllables 
in the following words; viz. morn-ing, ty-rant, pro-cure, de-bate, 
os-si-ble, Fe amcarenits ex-or-bit-ant, ‘coth-pré-hen-aive. Accent, 
when marked, is denoted by the same characters with those used 
in inflection; the acute acccent, by (/), and the grave, by (\). 
The latter is merely a nominal distinction, and means only, that 
the syllable thus marked is not accented at all. Custom alone 
determines upon which syllable the accent should be placed, and 
to the lexicographer it belongs, to ascertain and record its decision ~ 
on this point. In some few cases, we can trace the reasons for 
common usage in this respect. In words which are used as dif- 
ferent parts of speech, the distinction is sometimes denoted by 
changing the accent; as, pres’-enf, the noun or adjective, and 
pre- -sent’, the verb; ab’-sent, the adjective, and ab-sent’, the verb; 
ce’-ment, the noun, and ce-ment’, the verb, &c. So also where 
the same word has different meanings, this is sometimes indicat- 
ed by a change of accent; as, con'jure, to practice enchant- 
“ment, and con-jure’, to beseech, &c. There is another case, in 
which we discover the reason for changing the accent, and that 
is, when it is required by emphasis, as in sentences like the fol- 
lowing : 


4 OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 39 


His abzl'ity or in’ability to perform the act, materially varies the 
case. . 


This corrup’tion must put on zn’/corruption. 


In words of more than two syllables, there is often a second 
accent given, but more slightly than the principal one, and this 
is called the secondary accent; as, caravan’, rep'artee’, where 
the principal accent is marked (’’), and the secondary, (’); so, 
also, this accent is obvious, in nav'iga’tion, com'prehen’sion, 
plau'sibility, &c. ‘This whole subject, however, properly be- 
longs to dictionaries and spelling-books. 


Emphasis. 


EMPHASIS consists in a certain manner of uttering a word or 
phrase, designed to give it foree and energy, and to draw the at- 
tention of the hearer, particularly, to the idea thereby expressed. 
This is most frequently accomplished by an increased stress of 
voice laid upon the word or phrase. ‘The inflections, also, are 
made subsidiary to this object. ‘To give emphasis to a word, 
the inflection is often changed or increased in force or extent. 
Where the rising inflection is ordinarily used, the word, when 
emphatic, frequently takes the falling inflection; and sometimes, 
also, the falling inflection is changed into the rising, for the same 
purpose. Sometimes, though more rarely, the same object is 
‘effected by an unusual lowering of the voice, even down to a 
whisper. Emphatic words are often denoted by being written 
in tfalics, or in CAPITALS. 


I. Absolute Emphasis. 


Where the emphasis is independent of any contrast or compar- 
ison with other words or ideas, it is called absolute emphasis. 


EXAMPLES. 
We praise thee, O God; we acknowledge thee to be the Lord. 
Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean, roll. 
Arm, warriors, arm! 


You know that you are Brutus, that speak thus, 
Or, by the Gods, this speech were else your last, 


Hamlet. Saw who? 
Horatio. The king, your father. 
Hamlet. The king my father? * 


40 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


The game’s afoot ; 
Follow upon your spirit, and upon this charge, 
Cry ‘God for Harry, England,and Saint George.” 


She was the rainbow to thy sight, 
Thy sun, thy heaven of lost delight. 


The old Lion of England grows youthful again ; 
He rouses—he rises—he bristles his mane. 


Strike—till the last armed foe expires, 
Strtke—for your altars and your fires, 
Strike—for the green graves of your sires, 
God—and your native land. 


Il. Relative Emphasis. 


Where there is antithesis, either expressed or implied, the eme 
phasis is called relative. 


EXAMPLES. 


We can do nothing against the truth, but for the truth. 
But I am describing your condition, rather than my own. 
I fear not death, and shall I then fear thee 2 

_ Hunting men, and not beasts, shall be his game. 


He is the propitiation for our sins; and not for ours only, but for 
the sins of the whole world. 


It may moderate and restrain, but was not designed to banish glad- 
ness from the heart of man. 


In the following examples, there are two sets of antithesis in 
the same sentence. 


John was punished ; William, rewarded. 


Without were fightings, within were fears. 
Business sweetens pleasure, as labor sweetens rest. 
Justice appropriates rewards to merit, and punishments to crime. 


On the one side, all was alacrity and courage; on the other. all was 
timidity and indecision. 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 41 


The wise man is happy when he gains his own-approbation, the 
fool , when he gains the applause of others. 


His care was to polish the country by arf, as he had protected it by 
arms. 


In the following examples the relative emphasis is applied to 
three sets of antithetic words. 


The difference between a madman and a fool is, that the former rea- 
sons justly from false data; and the latter, erroneously, from just 
data. 


He raised a mortal to the skies, 
She drew an angel down. 


‘Sometimes the antithesis is implied, as in the following in- 
stances. 


The spirit of the white man’s heaven, forbids not thee to weep. 


What! while our arms can wield these blades, 
Shall we die tamely ? die alone ? 


At my nativity, 
The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes, 
Of burning cressets; and at my birth, 
The frame and huge foundation of the earth 
Shook like a coward. 


Il. Emphasis and Accent. 


When words, which are the same in part of their formation, 
are contrasted, the emphasis is expressed by accenting the syl- 
lable in which they differ. See Accent, page 39. 


EXAMPLES. 


What is the difference between probability and possibility ? ‘ing 
Learn to unlearn what you have learned amiss. 

John attends regularly, William, oc eninaes 

There is a great difference between giving and forgiving. 


The conduct of Antoninus was characterized by justice and hu- 


manity ; that of Nero, by zrjustice and ¢znhumanity. 
4 ks 


42 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


~The conduct of the former is deserving of approbation, while that 
of the latter merits the severest reprobation. 


IV. Emphasis and Inflection. 


Emphasis sometimes changes the inflection from the rising to 
the falling, or from the falling to the rising. For instances of 
the former change, see Rule II. and exception to Rule IV. In 
the first three following examples, the inflection is changed from 
the rising to the falling inflection; in the last three, it is changed 
from the falling to the rising, by the influence of emphasis. 


EXAMPLES. 


If we have no regard for religion in youth’, we ought to have some 
respect for it in age’. 


If we have no regard for our own’ character, we ought to regard 
the character of others’. 


If content cannot remove‘ the disquietudes of life, it will, at least, 
alleviate’ them. 


The ‘sweetest melody and the most perfect harmony, fall powerless 
upon the ear of one who is deaf”. 


It is useless to expatiate upon the beauties of nature to one who is 
blind.’ 


And they that have believing masters, let them not despise them, 
because they are brethren’; but rather let them do them service. 


V. Emphatic Phrase. 


When it is desired to give to a phrase great force of expres- 
sion, each word, and even the parts of a compound word, are 
independently emphasized. 


EXAMPLES. 


Cassius. Must I endure all this? 
Brutus. All this! Aye,—more, Fret,till your proud—heart—break 


What. weep you, when you but behold 
Our Cesar’s vesture wounded? Look ye here! 
Here is him-self. 


~ There was a time, my fellow-citizens, when the Lacedemonians . 
were sovereign masters, both by sea and land; while this state had 
not one ship—no, NoT—oNE—WALL. 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 43 


Shall I, the conqueror of Spain and Gaul; and notonly of the Al- 
pine nations, but of the Alps themselves; shall I compare myself 
With this HALF—YEAR—CAPTAIN? 


You call me misbeliever,—cut-throat—doy. 
Hath a dog—money? Is it possible— 
' A cur can lend three—thousand—ducats ? 


VI. Emphatic Pauses» 


A short pause is often made before or after, and sometimes both 
before and after an emphatic word or phrase, thus very much in 
creasing the emphatic expression of the thought. 


EXAMPLES. 


May one be pardoned, and retain—the offense? 
In the corrupted currents of this world 
Offense’s gilded hand may shove by—/usttce ; 
And oft ’tis seen, the wicked prize itself 
Buys out the law: but ’tis not so—above: 
There—is no shuffling: there—the action lies 
In its true nature. 


Are not these woods ee 
More free from peril than the envious courts ? 
Here—feel we but the penalty of Adam, 
The season’s difference. 


This—is no—flattery : These—are counselors 

That feelingly persuade me what I am. 

And this—our life exempt from public haunt, 

Finds tongues—in trees ; books—in the running brooks ; 
Sermons—in stones ; and—good in every thing. 


Heaven gave this Lyre, and thus decreed. 
Be thou a bruised—but not a broken—reed. 


QueEstions.. 1. When is a syllable said to be accented? 2. Give exam- 
ples. 3. How is the accent, when marked, denoted? 4. By what authority 
is the accent determined? 5. To whom does it belong to record usage in 
this respect? 6. In what cases can we perceive the reason for the accent ? 
7. Give examples of the first case. 8. Of thesecond. 9. Of the third. 10. 
Explain the secondary accent. 11. Give examples. 12. What is Empuasis? 
13. What is its object? 14. How is this object most frequently accomplished ? 
15. In what other ways is it also affected? 15. How is emphasis denoted ? 
17. What is absolute emphasis? 18. Give examples. 19. Whaf is relative 
emphasis? 20. Give examples. 21. How is accent affected by emphasis? 
22. Give examples. 23. How are inflections affected by it? 24. Give an 
example in which the inflection is changed from the rising to the falling, by 
the force of emphasis. 25. Give one, in which it is changed from the falling 
to the rising. 26. What is an emphatic phrase? 27. Give an example. 
28. What is meant by the emphalic pause? 29. Give an example. 


44 M’GUFFEY'S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


SECTION IV. 
INSTRUCTIONS FOR READING VERSE. 


I. Inflections. 


In reading verse, the inflections should be nearly the same as in 
reading prose; the chief difference is, that in poetry, the mono- 
tone and rising inflection are more frequently used than in prose. 
The greatest difficulty in reading or declaiming this species of 
composition, consists in giving it that measured flow which distin- 
guishes it from prose, without falling into a chanting pronuncia- 
tion which makes it ridiculous. In order to surmount this diffi- 
culty, it will be weil sometimes to pronounce the lesson exactly as 
if it were prose, before attempting to read it with poetical graces. 

If, at any time, the reader is in doubt as to the proper inflection, 
let him reduce the passage to earnest conversation, and pronounce 
it in the most familiar and prosaic manner, and he will generally 
fall into the inflection which should be adopted. 


EXERCISES IN INFLECTIONS. 


Meanwhile the south wind rose‘, and with black wings 
Wide hovering’, all the clouds together drove 

From under heaven: the hills to.their supply’, 

Vapor and exhalation dusk and moist 

Sent up amain‘: and now, the thickened sky 

Like a dark ceiling stood‘: down rushed the rain 
Impetuous’, and continued till the earth 

No more was seen‘: the floating vessel swam 
Uplifted’, and secure with beaked prow’, 

Rode tilting o’er the waves’. 


My friend’, adown life’s valley’, hand in hand’, 

With grateful change of grave and merry speech 

Or song , our hearts unlocking each to each’, : 
We'll journey onward to the silent land’; 

And when stern death shall loose that loving band , 
Taking in his cold hand, a hand of ours’, 

The one shall strew the other’s grave with flowers’ 
Nor shall his heart a moment be unmanned’. 

My friend and brother’! if thou goest first’, 

Wilt thou no more re-visit me below’? 

Yea, when my heart seems happy causelessly’, 

And swells’, not dreaming why’,—my soul shall know 
That thou’, unseen’, art bending o’er me’. 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 45 


Here rests his head upon the lap of earth’, 
A youth to fortune and to fame unknown’; 
Fair science frowned not on his humble birth’, 
And melancholy marked him for her own’; 


Large was his bounty’, and his soul sincere’; 

Heaven did a recompense as largely send‘. 

He gave to misery all he had’—a tear’; 

He gained from Heaven’, (twas all he wished’,) a friend . 


No further seek his merits to disclose’, 

Or draw his frailties from their last abode’, 
(There, they, alike’, in trembling hope repose’,) 
The bosom of his father and his God'. 


II. Accent and Emphasis. 


In reading verse, every syllable must have the same accent, 
and every word the same emphasis as in prose; and whenever 
the melody or music of the verse would lead to an incorrect ac- 
cent or emphasis, this must be disregarded. If a poet has made 
his verse deficient in melody, this must not be remedied by the 
reader, at the expense of sense or the established rules of accent 
and quantity. -T'ake the following example. 


O’er shields, and helms, and helmed heads he rode, 
Of thrones, and mighty Seraphim prostrate. 


According to the metrical accent the last word must be pro- 
nounced * prosfrafe’.””. But according to the authorized pronun- 
ciation it is ‘*pros'trate.”” Which shall yield, the poet or estab- 
lished usage? Certainly not the latter. 

Some writers advise a compromise of the matter, and that the 
word should be pronounced without accenting either syllable. 
Sometimes this may be done, but where it is not practicable, the 
prosaic reading should be preserved. 

In the following examples, the words and syllables which are 
improperly accenied or emphasized in the poetry, are marked in 
italics. According to the principle stated above, the reader should 
avoid giving them that pronunciation which the correct reading of 
the poetry would require, but should read them as prose, except 
where he can throw of all accent, and thus compromise the 
conflict between the poetic reading and tl.e correct reading. That 
1s, he must read the poetry wrong, in order to read the language 
right. : 


EXAMPLES, 


Ask of thy mother earth why oaks are made 
Taller and stronger than the weeds they shade. 


46 


M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


Their praise is still, ‘‘the style is excellent,” . 
The sense they humbly take upon content. 


False eloquence, like the prismatic glass, 
Its fairy colors spreads on every place. 


To do aught good, never will be our task, 
But ever to do ill our sole delight. 


Of all the causes which combine to blind 
Man’s erring judgment, and mislead the mind, 
What the weak head with strongest bias rules, 
Is pride, the never-failing vice of fools. 


Eye nature’s walks, shoot folly as it flies, 
And catch the manners living as they rise. 


To whom, then first incensed, Adam replied, 
“Is this thy love, is this the recompense 
Of mine to thee, ungrateful Eve?” 


We may, with more successful hope, resolve 
‘To wage, by force or guile, successful war, 
Jrreconcilable.to our grand foe 

Who now triumphs, and in excess of joy 
Sole reigning, holds the tyranny of Heaven. 


Yet there will still be bards; though fame is smoke, 
Its fumes are frankincense to human thought; 

And the unquiet feeling which first awoke 

Long zn the world, will seek what they there sought; 
As on the beach the waves at last are broke, 

Thus to their extreme verge, the passions brought, 
Dash into poetry, which zs but passion, 

Or at least was so, ere it grew a fashion. 


Oft on the bordering deep 
Encamp their legions, or with obscure wing, 
Scout far and wide into the realms of night, 
Scorning surprise. 


Which, wher, Beelzebub perceived, (than whom, 
Satan except, none higher sat,) with grave 
Aspect, he rose, and in his rising seemed 

A pillar of state. 


In his own image he 
Created thee, in the image of God 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 47 


Express, and thou becam’st a living soul. 

Male he created thee, but thy consort 

Female for race; then blessed mankind and said, 
Be fruitful, multiply and fill the earth. 


Thus what thou desirest 
And what thou fearest, alike destroys all hope 
Of refuge, and concludes thee miserable 
Beyond all past example, and future. 


Thee, Sion, and the flowery brooks beneath, 
That wash thy hallowed feet, and warbling flow, 
Nightly I visit: nor sometimes forget 

Those other two, equal’d with me in fate. 


All sorts are here, that all earth yields, 
Variety without end, but of the tree. 
Which tasted, works knowledge of good and ill, 
Thou mayest not taste. 


‘ The frantic madman, too 
In whose confused brain reason had lost 
Her reins, grew sober, and his chains fell off. 


Notre. The principle which has been stated and exemplified in the pre- 
ceding examples, admits of a few exceptions; but as they cannot be classi- 
fied in such a way as to furnish a safe guide to any but practiced readers, the 
rule has been laid down as one without exception. 'Those who are desirous 
of pursuing the examination of the subject further, and to see the exceptions 
reduced to the form of rules, may consult  Walker’s Rhetorical Grammar, 
pp- 164—5—6—7. 


Ill. Poetic Pauses. 


In order to make the measure of poetry perceptible to the ear, 
there should generally be a slight pause at the end of each line, 
even where the sense does not require it. But there is great 
danger of making the pause too long and distinct. Now the 
error of making no pause except where it is indicated by the 
punctuation, or required by the sense, is far less destructive to 
the beauty of delivery, than that of making too long a pause. 
Perhaps, therefore, it would be as well that very young pupils 
should be permitted to disregard this rhythmical pause. When 
they have been prepared, by faithful practice under. the preceding 
rules, they can, with more safety, be brought to those exercises, 
which require a more cultivated ear, and a more refined taste. 

There is, also, in almost every line in poetry, a pause at or 
near its middle, which is called the Cesura.. This must be care- 
fully observed in reading verse, or much of the harmony will be 


“1 a Ns * 
48 M’GUFFEY’S KHETORICAL GUIDE 


lost. It should, however, never be so placed as to injure the 
sense of the passage. Itis indeed reckoned a great beauty, where 
it naturally coincides with the pause required by the sense. This 
cesura, though generally placed near the middle, may be placed 
at other intervals. ‘There are sometimes also two additional 
pauses in each line, called demi-cesuras. ‘The cesura is marked 
thus ( || ), and the demi-cesura thus ( | ), in the examples given. 
‘There is also to be observed a marked accent upon the long syl- 
lable next preceding the cesura, and a slighter one upon that next 
before each of the demi-cesuras. ‘These pauses and accents con- 
stitute chiefly the melody of poetry. When made too promi- 
nent, however, they lead to a sing-song style, which should be 
carefully avoided. See Lesson X XIX. 

In the following examples the cesura is marked in each line, 
the demi-cesura in a few cases only. 


EXAMPLES. 


Nature | to all things |] fixed | the limits fit, 
And wisely | curbed |] proud man’s | pretending art. 


As on | the land || while here | the ocean gains, 
In other | parts || it leaves | wide sandy plains. 


So when an angel || by divine command, 
With rising tempests || shakes a guilty land. 


. Then from his closing eyes |] thy form shall part, 
And the last pang |] shall tear thee from his heart. 


Know then thyself;|] presume not God to scan 3 
The proper study |] of mankind is man. 


There is a land |] of every land the pride, 

Beloved by Heaven || 0’er all the world beside; 
Where brighter scenes || dispense serener light, 
And milder moons |] imparadise the night ; 

Oh, thou shalt find,|| howe’er thy footsteps roam, 
That land—thy country |] and that spot—thy home. 


In slumbers | of midnight |] the sailor | boy lay, 

His hammock | swung loose || at the sport of the wind ; 
But watch-worn | and weary || his cares | flew away, 
And visions | of happiness |] danced | o’er his mind. 


His falchion flashed || along the Nile; 
His hosts he led || through Alpine snows, 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 49 


O’er Moscow’s towers |] that blazed awhile, 
His eagle flag || unrolled and froze. 


No self-plumed vanity |] was there, 
With fancy’s consequence || elate; 
Unknown to her |} the haughty air : 
That means to speak || superior state. 


You may as well || go stand upon the beach, 

And bid the main-flood || bate his usual height; 

You may as well || use question with the wolf, 

Why he hath made |] the ewe bleat for the lamb ; 

You may as well || forbid the mountain pines 

To wag their high tops, || and to make no noise, 

When they are fretted || with the gusts of heaven; - 
You may as well || do any thing that’s hard, 

As seek to soften || that,(than which, what’s harder !) 
His Jewish heart. 


Now the hungry |] lion roars, 

And the wolf || behowls the moon; 
While the heavy |} plowman snores, 
With his weary || task foredone. 


Now the wasted || brands do glow, 
While the screech-owl || screeching loud, 
Puts the wretch || that lies in woe, 

In remembrance |] of his shroud. 


She said | and struck ; |] deep entered | in her side 
The piercing steel, || with reeking purple dyed: 
Clogged | in the wound, || the cruel | weapon stands, 
The spouting blood || came streaming o’er her hands 
Her sad attendants || saw the deadly stroke, 

And with | loud cries |] the sounding | palace shook. 


IV. Simele. 


A Simile, in poetry, should be read in a lower tone of voice, 
than other parts of the passage. 


EXAMPLES. 
(The Similes are put in Italics.) 
"T'was then great Marlborough’s mighty soul was proved, 
That, in the shock of charging hosts unmoved, 


Amid confusion, horror, and despair, 
Roe 
5 


50 


M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


Examined all the dreadful scenes of war; 

In peaceful thought the field of death surveyed, 
To fainting squadrons, sent the timely aid; 
Inspired repulsed battalions to engage, 

And taught the doubtful battle where to rage. 
So, when an angel, by divine command, 

With rising tempests shakes a guilty land, 
(Such as of late, o’er pale Britannia passed,) 
Calm and serene,he drives the furious blast ; 
And, pleased the Almighty’s orders to perform, 
Rides on the whirlwind, and directs the storm. 


Part curb their fiery steeds, or shun the goal 
With rapid wheels, or fronted brigades form. 


‘As when, to warn proud cities, war appears 


Waged in the troubled sky, and armies rush 
To battle in the clouds. 
Others with vast Typhean rage more fell, 

Rend up both rocks and hills, and ride the air 

In whirlwind. Hell scarce holds the wild uproaz. 
As when Alcides 
-felt the envenomed robe, and tore 
Through pain, up by the roots, Thessalian pines, 
And Lichas from the top of Gita threw 

Into the Euboie sea. 


Each at the head, 
Leveled his deadly aim; their fatal hands 

No second stroke intend; and such a frown 
Each cast at th’ other, as when two black clouds, 
With heaven’s artillery fraught, come rolling on 
Over the Caspian, there stand front to front, 
Hovering a space, till winds the signal blow 

T'o join the dark encounter, in mid-air : 

So frowned the mighty combatants. 


Then pleased and thankful, from the porch they go, 
And, but the landlord, none had cause of wo: 

The cup was vanished ; for, in secret guise, 

The younger guest purloined the glittering prize. 
As one who spies a serpent in his way, 

Glistening and basking in the summer ray, 
Disordered, stops to shun the danger neur, 

Then walks with faintness on, and looks with fear,— 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 51 


So seemed the sire, when first upon the road, 
The shining spoil his wily partner showed. 


While o’er the foam, the ship impetuous flies, 
The attentive pilot still the helm applies ; 7 

As in pursuit along the aerial way, 

With ardent eye, the falcon marks his prey, 

Each motion watches of the doubtful chase, 
Obliquely wheeling through the liquid space ; 

So, governed by the statesman’s glowing hands, 
The regent helm, her motion still commands. 


Questions. 1. What is the difference between the inflections proper in 
prose and in verse? 2. What is the principal ane in reading poetry 
.correctly ? 3. How may this difheulty be overcome? If there should be 
doubt as to the proper inflection, how may the Late be determined? 5. 
If the poetical accent or emphasis conflicts with the common and authorized 
pronunciation, which should yield? 6. How may the difficulty sometimes 
be compromised? 7. Illustrate this by examples. 8. What pauses are pe- 
culiar to poetry ?_ 9. What danger is there with regard to poetical pauses ? 
10. How is it to be avoided? 11. What caution should be observed with 
regard to the cesura? 12. How should a simile be read in poetry ? 


SECTION V. 
CULTIVATION AND MANAGEMENT OF THE VOICE. 


I. Instructions for acquiring Strength and Compass of Voice. 


“'THeE first object of every speaker’s attention, is to have a 
smooth, even, full tone of voice. If nature has not given him 
such a voice, he must endeavor, as much as possible, to acquire 
it; nor ought he to despair; for such is the force of exercise up- 
on the organs of speech, that constant practice will strengthen the 
voice in any key to which we accustom it. That key, therefore, 
which is the most natural, and which we have the greatest oc- 
easion to use, should be the key we ought the most diligently to 
improve. 

Every one has a certain pitch of voice in which he can speak 
most easily to himself and must ag.eeably to others; this may be 
called the natural pitch; this is the pitch in which we converse ; 
and this must be the basis of every improvement we acquire from 
art and exercise. In order, therefore, to strengthen this middle 
tone, we ought to read and speak in it, as loud as possible, with- 
out suffering the voice to rise into-a higher key. ‘This, however, 
is no easy operation. It is not very difficult to be loud in a high 
tone, but to be loud and forcible without raising the voice into a 
higher key, requires great prectice and management. 

The best method of acquiring this power of voice, is to prae- 


52 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


tice reading and speaking some strong, animated passages, in a 
small room, and to persons placed at as small a distance as pos- 
sible ; for, as we naturally raise our voice to a higher key, where 
we speak to people at a great distance, so we naturally lower our 
key, as those, to whom we speak, come nearer. When, therefore, 
we have no idea of being heard at a distance, the voice will not 
be so apt to rise into a higher key when we wish to be forcible ; 
and, consequently, exerting as much force as we are able, in a 
small room, and to people near us, will tend to swell and 
strengthen the voice, in the middle tone.’’* 


Low tones of Voice 


May be acquired and strengthened, by practice on such pieces 
as naturally require a pitch a little below the natural or conver- , 
sational tone; such, for example, as contain the expression of 
hatred, scorn, or reproach, as well as those of a very grave and 
solemn character. When the student can pronounce such pieces 
with ease and force, let him practice them on a little lower note, 
and so on, until the voice has been sufficiently cultivated in that 
direction. : 

EXAMPLES FOR PRACTICE 

O, proper stuff! 

This is the very painting of your fears: 
This is the air-drawndagger which you said 
Led you to Duncan. Oh, these pains and starts 
(Impostors to true fear) would well become 
A woman’s story, at a winter’s fire, 
Authorized by her grandam. Shame itself! 
Why do you make such faces ?- When all’s done, 
You look but on a stool. 


Thou slave! thou wretch! thou coward! 
Thou little valiant, great in villainy ! 
Thou ever strong upon the stronger side! 
Thou fortune’s champion, thou dost never fight 
But when her humorous ladyship is by, 
To teach thee safety! Thou art perjured too, 
And sooth’st up greatness. What a fool art thou, 
A ramping fool; to brag, and stamp, and sweat, 
Upon my party! thou cold-blooded slave. 


Hast thou not spoke like thunder on my side? 
Being sworn my soldier? bidding me depend 


—— 


* Walker’s Rhetorical Grammar, p. 245, 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 53 


Upon thy stars, thy fortune, and thy strength ? 
And dost thou now fall over to my foes? 

Thou wear a lion’s hide! Doff it for shame, 
And hang a calf’s skin on those recreant limbs. 


Poison be their drink, 
Gall, worse than gall, the daintiest meat they taste; 
Their sweetest shade a grove of cypress trees! - 
Their sweetest prospects, murdering basilisks! 
Their softest touch as smart as lizard’s stings! 
Their music, frightful as the serpent’s hiss; 
And boding screech-owls make the concert full. 


God! thou art mighty !—At thy footstool bound, 
Lie, gazing to thee, Chance, and Life, and Death; 
Nor in the angel-circle flaming round, 

Nor in the million worlds that blaze beneath, 

Is one that can withstand thy wrath’s hot breath. 
Woe, in thy frown—in thy smile,victory! 

Hear my last prayer!—I ask no mortal wreath; 
Let but these eyes my rescued country see, 

Then take my spirit, all omnipotent, to thee. 


What eye 
Has not been dazzled by thy majesty? 
Where is the ear that has not heard thee speak? 
Thou breathest! forest-oaks of centuries 
Turn their uprooted trunks toward the skies !- 
Thou thunderest! adamantine mountains break, 
Tremble, and totter, and apart are riven! 
Thou lightenest! and the rocks inflame; thy power 
Of fire, to their metallicbosom driven, 
Melts and devours them; lo! they are no more; 
They pass away like wax in the fierce flame, 
Or the thick mists that frown upon the sun, 
Which he but glances at, and they are gone 


High tones of Voice 


May be acquired, by a process similar to that just described. 
Select such passages as require a high key, and read them with 
the utmost possible force. ‘Then pitch the voice a little higher, 
at each successive reading, and so on until the end is accomplish- 
ed. Speaking in the open air, at the very top of the voice, is an 
exercise admirably adapted to strengthen the voice and give it 
compass, and should be frequently practiced. 


54 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


EXAMPLES FOR PRACTICE. 


What was the part of a faithful citizen? of a prudent, active, and 
honest minister? Was he not to secure Eubea, as our defense 
against all attacks by sea? Was he not to make Beeotia our barrier 
on the mid-land side? the cities bordering on Peloponnesus our bul- 
wark in that quarter? Was he not to attend with due precaution, to 
the importation of corn, that this trade might be protected through 
all its progress, up to our own harbor? Was he not to cover those 
‘districts which we commanded, by seasonable detachments at Tene- 
dos? to exert himself in the assembly for this purpose? while with 
equal zeal he labored to gain others to our interest? Was he not to 
cut off the best and most important resources of our enemies, and to 
supply those in which our country was defective? And all this you 
gained by my counsels, and my administration. 


Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come, 
Revenge yourself on Cassius; 

For Cassius is a~-weary of the world; 

Hated by one he loves, braved by his brother, 
Checked by a bondsman, all his faults observed, 
Set in a note-book, learned and conned by rote, 
To cast into his teeth. 


O ye judges! it was not by human counsel, nor by any thing less 
than the immediate care of the immortal Gods, that this event has 
taken place. The very divinities themselves who beheld that mon- 
ster fall, seemed to be moved, and to have inflicted their vengeance 
upon him. I appeal to, I call to witness you, O ye hills and groves 
of Alba! you, the demolished Alban altars! ever accounted holy by 
the Romans, and co-eval with our religion, but which Clodius, in his 
mad fury, having first cut down and leveled the most sacred groves, 
had sunk under heaps of common buildings; I appeal to you; I call 
you to witness, whether your altars, your divinities, your powers, 
which he had polluted with all kinds of wickedness, did not avenge 
themselves when this wretch was extirpated? And thou, oh holy 
Jupiter! from the height-of thy sacred mount, whose lakes, groves, 
and boundaries, he had so often contaminated with his detestable im- 
purities; and you, the other deities, whom he had insulted, at length 
opened your eyes, to punish this enormous offender. By you, by 
-you, and in your sight, was the slow, but the righteous and merited 
vengeance executed upon him. 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 55 


~ 


II. Fullness and Rotundity of Voree. 


By this term is meant that quality of voice, to which the Romans 
gave the name of ‘‘ ore rotundo,’’ because the sounds are formed with 
a ‘“‘round, open mouth.” It is exemplified in the hailing of a ship, 
*¢ ship aho y ;”’ in the reply of the sailor, when, in the roar of the 
storm, he answers his captain, * ay e, ay e;’? and in the com- 
mand of the officer to his troops, when, amid the thunder of artillery 
he gives the order, ‘‘ ma rch,” or ** ha——lit.” 

This fullness or roundness of tone is secured, by dwelling on the 
vowel sound, and indefinitely protracting it. ‘The mouth should be 
opened wide, the tongue kept down, and the aperture left as round, 
and_as free for the voice as possible. 

It is this artificial rotundity, which, in connection with a distinct 
articulation, enables the field orator, or one who speaks in a verv- 
large apartment, to send his voice to the most distant point. Itisa 
certain degree of this quality, which distinguishes declamatory, or 
public speaking or reading, from private conversation, and no one can 
accomplish much, as a public speaker, without cultivating it. It must 
be carefully distinguished from the “high tone,’’ which is an eleva- 
tion of pifch, and from ‘loudness,’ or “strength” of voice, both 
which qualities have been treated of, in the preceding article. 


[Let the pupil practice upon examples like the following, dwelling upon 
the sounds of the italicized vowels.] 


(Loud and Full.) 


O, righteous Heaven! ere Freedom found a grave, 
Why slept the sword, omnipotent to save ? 

Where was thine arm, O vengeance ? where thy rod, 
That smote the foes of Zion and of God? 


He said, he would not ransom Mortimer; 
Forbad my tongue to speak of Mortimer ; 
But I will find him, when he lies asleep, 
And in his ear [’l halloo—Mortimer ! 

P ll have a starling shall be taught to speak 
Nothing but Mortimer, and give it him. 


Woe! woe! woe! to the inhabitants of Jerusalem! 


(Low, Soft, and Full.) 


O swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon, 
That monthly changes in her circled orb, 
Lest that thy love prove likewise variable. 


O sailor boy! woe to thy dream of delight! 

O sailor boy! sailor boy! never again 

Shall home, love, or kindred, thy wishes repay, 
Unblessed, and wnhonored, down deep in the main, 
Full many a score fathom, thy frame shall decay. 


56 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


Ill. Management of the Voice. 


On this subject we can do nothing better than lay before the 
student an extract from Mr. Walker’s excellent “ Rhetorical 
Grammar.” 

‘6 As the voice naturally dindey into a higher tone, when we 
want to speak louder, but not so easily pe a lower tone, when 
we want to speak more softly, the first care of every reader and 
speaker ought to be, to acquire the power of lowering the voice 
when it is got too high. Experience shows us that we can raise 
our voice at pleasure, to any pitch it is capable of; but the same 
experience tells us, that it requires infinite art-and practice to. 
bring the voice to a lower key, when it is once raised too high. 
It ought, therefore, to be a first principle with all public readers 
and speakers, rather to begin under the common level of the 
voice, than above it. 

Every one, therefore, who would acquire a variety of tone, 1n 
public reading or speaking, must avoid, as the greatest evil, a 
loud and vociferous beginning; and, for this purpose, it would 
be. prudent in a reader or speaker, to adapt his voice as if only 
to be heard by the person nearest to him. If his voice has nat- 
ural strength, and the subject any thing impassioned in it, a 
higher and louder tone will insensibly steal on him, and his 
greatest address must be directed to keep it within bounds. For 
this purpose, it will be frequently necessary for him to recall his 
voice, as it were, from the extremities of his auditory, and direct 
it to those who are nearest to him. | Nothing will so powerfully 
work on the voice, as supposing ourselves conversing at different 
intervals, with different parts of the auditory. 

If,in the course of reading, the voice should slide into a higher 
tone, and this tone too often recur, care must be taken to throw 
in a variety, by beginning subsequent sentences in a lower tone, 
and (if the subject will admit of it) in a monotone; for the mono- 
tone, it is presumed, is the most efficacious means of bringing 
the voice from high to low, and of altering it when it has been 
too long in the same key.’’* 

With regard .to those changes of tone which are required by 
ihe character of the sentiment uttered, such as a sudden transi- 
ion from high to low, or the contrary, plaintiveness or express- 
veness of voice, a slow or quick delivery, and other things of a 
like nature, rules seem to be unnecessary, and even to impede 
improvement. ‘The general principle, that we must be governed 
by the promptings of nature, is the only rule here applicable. 
Such changes, however, will be marked in the examples given 
under the appropriate head. 


* Rhetorical Grammar, pp. 249—50. 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. a7 


Questions. 1. What, with regard to the voice, is an important object of 
every speaker’s attention? 2. What key cught he most diligently to im- 
prove? 3. What is meant by the natural pitch? 4. How may this be cul- 
tivated? 5. What difficulty is there in doing this? 6. What is the best 
method of obviating this difficulty? 7. How may the lower tones of the voice 
be strengthened? 8. How may high tones of voice be acquired? 9. Is it 
easier to raise the voice, or to lower it? 10. In what tone ought a speaker 
to commence? 11. What is especially to be avoided in the beginning i Tas 
In what way may the voice, if it has got too high, be brought down ? 


SECTION VI. 
Gesture. 


Ir is not designed, in this book, to give a minute system of 
rules and instructions on the subject of Gesture. 'That would 
be a difficult task without the assistance of plates; and even 
with their aid, any directions must be very imperfect, without 
the example and illustrations of the living teacher, as the speak- 
ing model. It will be sufficient to give some general hints, by 
means of which the student may form rules, or pursue a discip- 
line for himself. 

Gesture is that part of the speaker’s manner, which pertains 
to his attitude, to the use and carriage of his person, and the. 
movement of his limbs in delivery. 

Every person, in beginning to speak, feels the natural embar- 
rassment resulting from his new position. ‘The novelty of the 
situation destroys his self-possession, and, with the loss of that, 
he becomes awkward,—his arms and hands hang clumsily,— 
and now, for the first time, seem to him worse than superfluous 
members. ‘This embarrassment will be overcome gradually, as 
the speaker becomes familiar with his position; and it is some- 
times overcome at once, by a powerful exercise of the attention 
upon the matter of the speech. When that fills and possesses 
the mind, the orator insensibly takes the attitude which is be- 
coming, and, at least, easy and natural, if not graceful. 

Ist. The first general direction that should be given to the 
speaker is, that he should stand erect and firm, and in that pos- 
ture that gives an expanded chest, and full play to the organs of 
respiration and utterance. 

2d. Let the attitude be such that it can be shifted with ease, 
and without shuffling and hitching the hmbs. The student will 
find, by trial, that no attitude is so favorable to this end, as that 
in which the weight of the body is thrown upon one limb, leav- 
ing the other free to be advanced or thrown back, as fatigue or 
the proper action of delivery may require. 

The student, who has any regard to grace or elegance, will of 
course avoid all the gross faults which are so common among 


58 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


7 


public speakers, such as resting one foot upon stools and bench- 
es, or throwing the body lazily forward upon the support of the 
rostrum. 

3d. Next to-attitude, come the movements of the person and 
limbs. In these, two objects are to be observed, and, if possible, 
combined, viz. propriety, and grace. ‘There is expression in 
the extended arm, the clinched hand, the open palm, and the 
smiting of the breast. But let no gesture be made that is not in 
harmony with the thought or sentiment that is uttered; for it is 
this harmony which constitutes propriety. As far as possible, 
let there be a correspondence between the style of action and 
the strain of thought. Where the thought flows on calmly and 
sweetly, let there be the same graceful and easy flow of gesture 
and action. Where the style is sharp and abrupt, there is pro- 
priety in the quick, short, and abrupt gesticulation. Especially 
avoid that ungraceful sawing of the air with the arms, into which 
an ill-regulated fervor betrays many young speakers. 

What is called a graceful manner, can only be obtained by 
those who have some natural advantages of person. So far as it 
is in the reach of study or practice, it seems to depend chiefly 
upon the general cultivation of manners, implying freedom from 
all embarrassment, and entire self-possession. We do not expect 
to see grace in the movements of a man whose figure is bent, 
or whose limbs are stiff and rigid with labor or the infirmities 
of age. Every one understands the difference between the man 
whose figure moves to and fro with the alternate emotions of his 
bosom, and the man who is bolt upright, or the one who changes 
his attitude with a jerk or convulsion. Every one understands 
the difference between the motion of the arm that moves ina 
graceful curve, and one that is thrust forward in a straight line. 
The whole secret, then, of acquiring a graceful style of gesture, 
we apprehend, lies in the habitual practice, not only when 
speaking, but at all times, of free and graceful movements of the 
limbs. 

There is no limb or feature, which the accomplished speaker 
will not employ with effect, in the course of a various and ani- 
mated delivery. But the arms are the chief reliance of the orator 
in gesture; and it will not be amiss to give a hint or two, in ref 
erence to their proper use. 

And first ;—lIt is not an uncommon fault to use one arm ex- 
clusively, and to give that a uniform movement. Such move- 
ment may, sometimes, have grown habitual from one’s profes- 
sion or employment. But in learners, also, there is often a pre- 
disposition to this fault. 

Secondly ;—It is not unusual to see a speaker use only the 
lower half of his arm. ‘This always gives a stiff and constrained 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 59 


manner to delivery. Let the whole arm 1 move, and let the move- 
ment be free and flowing. 

Thirdly s—As a general rule, let the hand be open, with the 
fingers slightly curved. It then seems liberal, communicative, 
and candid; and, in some degree, gives that expression to the 
style of delivery. Of course, there are passages which require 
the clinched hand, the pointed finger, &c.; but these are used to 
_give a particular expression. 

Fourthly ;—In the movements of the arm, study variety and 
the grace of curved lines. 

When a gesture is made with one arm only, the eye should be 
cast in the direction of that arm; not af it, but over it. 

All speakers employ, more or less, the motions of the head. 
In reference to that member, we make but one observation. 
Avoid the continuous bobbing and shaking of the head, which is 
so conspicuous in the action of many ambitious public speakers. 

The beauty and force of all gesture consists in the timely, ju- 
dicious, and natural employment of it, when it can serve to illus- 
trate the meaning, or give emphasis to the force of an important 
passage. ‘The usual fault of young speakers is too much action. 
To emphasize all parts alike, is equivalent to no emphasis; and 
by employing forcible gestures on unimportant passages, we di- 
minish our power to render other parts impressive. 

With these general remarks, we leave the subject to the good 
sense and the good taste of the intelligent teacher. 


Questions. 1. What is the first general direction with regard to gesture? 
2. What attitude is the most favorable for free motion? 3. What gross 
faults are mentioned? 4. What two objects are to be observed with regard 
to the movements? 5. With what should every gesture be in harmony? 6. 
How can what is called a graceful manner be best obtained? 7. What is 
the first direction with regard to the use of the arms? 8. What is the sec- 
ond? 9. What is the third? 10. What is the fourth? 11. What remark 
with regard to the motion of the head? 12. In what does the beauty and 
force of all gesture consist? 13. What is the usual fault of young speakers ? 


60 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE. 


TO TEACHERS. 


In the Szconp Part, some lessons are given with a rhetorical nota 
tion, and such remarks are added, as are deemed appropriate. 

In ArtTicuLaTIon, as the exercises are already extensive, a few les- 
sons only are added, especially adapted to the purpose of practice. 
Let it be remembered, that every word, in every lesson, is an exercise 
In articulation. It is only by constant practice in this fundamental 
element of elocution, that an easy,-correct, and distinct enunciation 
can be attained and preserved. 

In the lessons upon InriecTion, a few simple principles are first 
stated, and illustrated by lessons, and to these are added new ones at 
the head of each division, until, at last, an epitome of the whole sub- 
ject is presented. ‘Thus the subject is opened, by degrees, until all 
its principles are placed before the mind connectedly. This plan of 
vresenting the subject, it is believed, will commend itself to the 
teacher. 

In Empuasis and Portry, a synopsis is also placed at the head of 
_ each division, and the lessons for practice include all the previous no- 
tation. 

With regard to the lessons on Mopunation, a single remark seems 
necessary. ‘The tone and manner, in which emotion is expressed, 
are instinctive. A proper expression can be given, only by imbibing 
the spirit of the subject. In the notation, high and low tones are 
specifically indicated. Loudness is sufficiently denoted in most 
cases, by emphasis. 

A considerable number of lessons are added at the close of the Se- 
cond Part, exhibiting all the principles connectedly. Occasionally, a 
lesson is: without notation, that the pupil may learn to apply the prin- 
ciples'as he progresses, and, in the Tuirp Parr, he is left chiefly 
to his own judgment and the aid of his teacher. 


The following characters.are used inthe Second Part. f 
THE RISING INFLECTION IS DENOTED BY .« « »« « « » (/) 
"THE FALLING INFLECTION “ MM PC ee 
'THE RISING CIRCUMFLEX A: SOMA Puc (v) 
THE FALLING CIRCUMFLEX a 99 a te oe he 


‘THE MONOTONE, BY A LINE PLACED OVER THE VOWEL. . (-) 
EMPHATIC WORDS ARE DENOTED BY ITALICS ORCAPITALS. 
‘THE EMPHATIC PAUSE, BY A LINE BEFORE OR AFTER THE WORD(—) 
PEECESUERK 1S :DENOTED (BY soo iS) Ve eee 
'THE DEMICESURA 4, phn ARTS IRIS gree itig A gh Oe ears 
A HIGH TONE 5 gy hE ITS MR ees ee 
A HIGHER TONE 4, ae ale wi des | a ae eee 
A LOW TONE 4 PP eeu Ae carts a ia 
APOC LOVER ONE /-\Sy0° 6! %e. Yen (a) ran a estes ae eee 


PART SECOND. 


Lessons in Reading, with Rhetorical Notation. 


EXERCISES ON ARTICULATION. 


LESSON I. 


DESCRIPTION OF A STORM. 


* * * Tuy looked round on every side, and hope gave 
way before the scene of desolation. Immense branches were | 
shivered from the largest trees; small ones were entirely stripped 
of their leaves ; the long grass was bowed to the earth; the wat- 
ers were whirled in eddies out of the little rivulets ; birds, leaving 
their nests to seek shelter in the crevices of the rocks, unable to 
stem the driving air, flapped their wings and fell upon the earth ; 
the frightened animals of the plain, almost suffocated by the” 
impetuosity of the wind, sought safety, and found destruction ;- 
some of the largest trees were torn up by the roots; the sluices: 
of the mountains were filled, and innumerable torrents rushed 
down the before empty gullies. ‘The heavens now open, and 
the lightning and thunder contend with the horrors of the wind. 

Ina moment,all was again hushed. Dead silence succeeded 
the bellow of the thunder—the roar of the wind—the rush of 
the waters—the moaning of the beasts—the screaming of the 
birds! Nothing was heard save the plash of the-agitated lake, 
as it beat up against the black rocks which girt it in. 

Again, greater darkness enveloped the trembling earth. Anon, — 
the heavens were rent with lightning, which nothing could have 
quenched but the descending deluge. Cataracts poured down 
from the lowering firmament. [or an instant, the horses dashed 
madly forward ; beast and rider blinded and stifled by the gush- 

ing rain, and gasping for breath. Shelter was nowhere. The 
quivering beasts reared,and snerted, and sank upon their = 

7 secmounting their riders. i . * * . 

us ye He had scarcely spoken, when there burst forth a 
terrific noise, they knew not what—a rush, they could not under 


Re te: fy — 
Te 


62 ; M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


stand—a vibration which shook them on their horses. Every 
terror sank before the roar of the cataract. It seemed that the 
mighty mountain, unable to support its weight of waters, shook 
to the foundation. A lake had burst upon its summit, and the 
cataract became a falling ocean. ‘The source of the great deep 
appeared to be discharging itself over the range of mountains; 
the great gray peak tottered on its foundation !—It shook !—It 
fell! and buried in its ruins, the castle, the village, and the bridge! 
a A 2 ‘i x [ D’israrxt. 


LESSON II. 


HYMN TO THE NIGHT-WIND. 


Ungripiep Spirir,throned upon the lap 
Of ebon Midnight, whither dost thou stray ? 
Whence didst thou come, and where is thy abode? 
From slumber I awaken at the sound 
Of thy most melancholy voice; sublime, 
Thou ridest on the rolling clouds, which take 
The forms of sphinx, or hyppogriff, or car, 
Like those by Roman conquerors of yore, 
In Nemean pastimes used, by fiery steeds 
Drawn headlong on; or choosest, all unseen, 
To ride the vault, and drive the murky storms 
Before thee, or bow down, with giant wing, 
‘The wondering forests as thou sweepest by! 


Daughter of Darkness! when remote the noise 

Of tumult,and of discord, and mankind; 

When but the watch-dog’s voice is heard, or wolves 
That bay the silent night, or from the tower, 

Ruined and rent, the note of boding owl, 

Or lapwing’s shrill and solitary ery; 

When sleep weighs down the eyelids of the world, 
And life is as it were not ; down the sky 

Forth from thy cave, wide “leipenler 4 thou dost come 
To hold nocturnal orgies. *_ * 

2 * * % * # # Behold? 
Stemming with eager prow the Atlantic tide, 

Holds on the intrepid mariner; abroad 

The wings of night brood shadowy ; heave the waves 
Around him, mutinous, their curling heads, 
Portentous of a storm ; all hands are plied, 

A zealous task, and sounds the husy deck 

With notes of preparation; many an eye 

Is upward cast-toward the clouded heaven # 

And many a thought, with troubled tenderness, 
Dwells on the calm tranquillity of home; 

And many a heart its supplicating prayer 


- ee ‘hee: > 


“* 
ai OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 


Breathes forth: meanwhile, the boldest sailor’s cheek 
Blanches; stout courage fails; young childhood’s shriek, 
Awfully piercing, bursts; and woman’s fears 
Are speechless. With a low, insidious moan, 
Rush past the gales that harbinger thy way, 
And hail thy advent; gloom the murky clouds 
Darker around ; and heave the maddening waves 
Higher their crested summits. With a glare, 
Unvailing but the clouds and foaming sea, 
Flashes the lightning; then, with doubling peal, 
Reverberating to the gates of heaven, 
Rolls the deep thunder, with tremendous crash, 
Sublime as if the firmament were rent 
Amid the severing clouds that pour their storms, 
Commingling sea and sky. 

Disturbed, arise 
The monsters of the deep, and wheel around 
Their mountainous bulk unwieldy, while aloft, 
Poised on the feathery summit of the wave, 
Hangs the frail bark, its howlings of despair 
Lost on the mocking storm. ‘Then frantic, thou 
Dost rise, tremendous Power, thy wings unfurled ; 
Unfurled, but not to succor nor to save: 
Then is thine hour of triumph; with a yell 
Thou rushest on; and with a maniac tone 
Sing’st in the rifted shroud; the straining mast 
Yields, and the cordage cracks. Thou chumest the deep 
To madness, tearing up the yellow sands 
From their profound recesses, and dost strew 
The clouds around thee, and within thy hand 
Tak’st up the billowy tide, and dashest down 
‘The vessel to destruction ! She ts not !— 
But when the morning lifts her dewy eye, 
And to a quiet calm the elements, 
Subsiding from their fury, have dispersed, 
There art thou, like a satiate conqueror, 
Recumbent on the murmuring deep, thy smiles 
All unrepentant of the savage wreck.—WILSon. 


LESSON ITI. 


THE CATARACT OF LODORE 


How does the water 
Come down at Lodoret? 


From its sources which well 
In the tarn on the fell; 
From its fountains 
In the mountains, 
Its rills and its gills; 


63 


“ * 
* 
M'GUFFEY'S RHETORICAL GUIDE >. 
Through moss and through brake, 
It runs and it creeps, 
For awhile, till it sleeps - 
In its own little lake. 
And thence at departing, 
Awakening and starting, 
It runs through the reeds, 
And away it proceeds, 
Through meadow and glade, : 
In sun and in shade, 
And through the wood-shelter, 
Among crags in its flurry, 
Helter-skelter, 
Hurry-skurry. 


Here it comes sparkling, 
And there it lies darkling; 
Now smoking and frothing 
Its tumult and wrath in, 
Till, in this rapid race, 

On which it is bent, 
It reaches the place 

Of its steep descent. 


The cataract strong 
Then plunges along, 
Striking and raging, 
As if a war waging 

‘Its caverns and rocks among; 
Rising and leaping, 
Sinking and creeping, ; 
Swelling and sweeping, 
Showering and springing, 
Flying and flinging, 
Writhing and ringing, 
Eddying and whisking, 
Spouting and frisking, 
Turning and twisting, 
Around and around 
With endless rebound: 
Smiting and fichting, 
A sight to delight in, 
Confounding, astounding, 

Dizzying and deafening the ear with its sound: 
Collecting, projecting, 
Receding and speeding, 
And shocking and rocking, 
And darting and parting, 
And threading and spreading, 
And whizzing and hissine, 
And dripping and skipping, 
And hitting and splitting, 
And shthing and twining, 
And ratiling and battling, 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 65 


And shaking and quaking, 
And pouring and roaring, 
And waving and raving, 
And tossing and crossing, 
And flowing and going, 
And running and stunning, 
And foaming and roaming, 
And dinning and spinning, 
And dropping and hopping, 
And working and jerking, 
And gugeling and struggling, 
And heaving and cleaving, 
And modning and groaning; 


And glittering and frittering, 
And gathering and feathering, 
And whitening and brightening, 
And quivering and shivering, 
And hurrying and skurrying, 
And thundering and floundering; 


Dividing and gliding and sliding, 

And falling and brawling and sprawling, - 
And driving and riving and striving, 

And sprinkling and twinkling and wrinkling, 
And sounding and bounding and rounding, 
And bubbling and troubling and doubling, 
And grumbling and rumbling and tumbling, 
And clattering and battering and shattering; 


Retreating and beating and meeting and sheeting, 
Delaying and straying and playing and spraying, 
Advancing and prancing and glancing and dancing, 
Recoiling, turmotling and toiling and boiling, 

And gleaming and Streaming and steaming and beaming, 
And rushing and flushing and brushing and gushing, 
And flapping and rapping and clapping and slapping, 
And curling and whirling and purling and twirling, 

And thumping and plumping and bumping and jumping, 
And dashing and flashing and splashing and clashing; 
And so never ending, but always descending, 

Sounds and motions forever and ever are blending, 

All at once and all o’er, with a mighty uproar: 

And this way, the water comes down. at Lodore.—Souruey. 


~~ 


66 . MGUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


EXERCISES ON INFLECTION 


The rising inflection is used, 

4 When the sense is incomplete. Rule IV. 

. At the last pause but one in a sentence. Rule VI. 

The falline enfleciton 1 is used, . 

1. Where the sense is complete. Rule I. 

The above principles are Ulustrated in the iolleyiaaanons. 

‘They are of nee extensive application. Scarcely a sentence oc- 
curs, in which they do not govern some of the inflections. 

Whatever cther inflections may be proper, they are mostly passed 
over unmarked, until we come to the proper place for noting them. 

Yn. these exercises, the inflection is generally placed on the most 

important word in the clause, and thus, to a considerable extent, in- 
dicates also the proper emphasis. 


LESSON IV. 


INDUSTRY. NECESSARY TO FORM TILE ORATOR. 


‘Tue history of the world is full of testimony’ to prove how 
much depends upon industry’; not an eminent orator has lived’ but 
is an example’ of it.. Yet, in contradiction to all this’, the almost 
universal feeling’ appears to be, that industry can effect nothing’, 
that eminence is the result of accident, and that.every one must 
be content to remain‘ just ot -he may happen to be. Thus 
multitudes’, who come forward as teachers and guides’, suffer 
themselves to be satisfied with the most indifferent attainments, 

_and a miserable mediocrity’, without so much as inquiring how 
they might rise higher’, much less making any attempt’ to rise. 
Por any other art’ they would serve an apprenticeship’, and 
would be ashamed to practice it in public’, before. they have learn- 
edit. If any one would sing’, he attends a master’, and is drill- 
ed’ in the very See. principles’; and, only after the most 
laborious process’, dares to exercise his voice in public. ‘This 
he does’, though he “he scarce any thing to learn but the mechan- _ 
‘ical -exect ation of what lies’, in sensible forms’, before his eye: 
Bat the aieed ne speaker’, who is to invent as well as to uiter’, 
to carry on an operation of the mind as well as to preduce sound’, 
enters: upon the Her without preparatory d discipline’, and then 
wonders that he ae 

ly.he were learning to play on the flute for public exhibaaane 
what hours and Rey would he spend in giving facility to his 
fingers’, and  aatede the power of the sweetest and most 
pressive execution’. If he were devoting himself to the or 
what months and years would he labor’,that he might kno 
compass\,: md be master of its keys’, ath be able to draw out 


OF THE ELECTIC SERIES. 67 


will’, all its various combinations of harmonious sounds’, and its 
full richness and delicacy of expression’. And yet,he will fancy’, 
that the grandest, the most various, the most expressive of all 
iustruments’, which the infinite Creator has fashioned’ by the 
union of an intellectual soul with the powers of speech’, may be 
played upon without study or practice’. He comes’ to it a mere 
uninstructed tyro‘, and thinks to manage all its stops’, and to 
eommand the whole compass of its varied and comprehensive 
power. fe finds himself a bungler in the attempt’, is mortified at 
lis failure’, and settles in his mind forever’,that the attempt is vain’. 

Success in every art’, whatever may be the natural talent’, is 
always the reward of industry and pains’. But the instances are 
many, of men of the finest natural genius’, whose beginning has 
promised mueh’, but who have degenerated wretchedly as they 
advanced’, because they trusted to their gifts’, and made no effort 
to improve’. ‘That there have never been other men of equal 
endowments with Cicero and Demosthenes’, none would venture 
to suppose’. If those great men had been content, like others’, 
to continue as they began’, and had never made their persevering 
efforts for improvement’, their countries would have been little 
benefited by their genius‘, and the world’ would never have known 
their fame’, ‘hey would have been lost: in the undistinguished 
crowd’ that sank to oblivion around’ them. 

Of how many more’ will the same remark prove true! What 
encouragement is thus given’ to the industrious‘! With such en- 
couragement’, how inexcusable is the negligence which suffers the 


most interesting and important truths “to seem heavy and aul 


and fall ineffectual to the ground’, through mere sluegishness in 
the delivery’! How unworthy of one who pe erforis the high 
function of a religious instructor’, upon whom depends’, in a 
great measure’, the religious ubwieice® and devotional senti- 
ment’, and final character’ of many fellow beings, to imagine that 


he can worthily discharge this great concern by occasionally talk-) 


ing for an hour’, he ows not Tow. and in a manner he has tak- 


en no pains to render correct’, or attractive’;, and which, simply — 
through that want of command over himself, which study’ would 


give, is immethodical’, verbose’, inaccurate’, feeble’, trifling * 


rr 


has been said of a great preacher, att 4 


That truths divine’ come mended from his tongue’. 
Alas! they come ruined and worthless from such a man as this". 
They lose that holy energy, by which they are to convert the 
soul’, and purify man for heaven’, and sink, in interest’ and ‘effi- 
eaey’, below the level of those.principles’, which govern the or- 
dinary affairs of this lower world’..\—H. Warm, Jr. . 


97 66 


* 


Remark. In the last paragraph, the words ‘‘knowledge,’’ ‘‘ sentiment,” 
‘¢ character,’’ ‘ being,”’ and ‘“immethodical,’’ ‘‘ verbose,’ &c., are embraced 


Ee yt 


under the re for series. See Rule XI. eo eh 


68 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


LESSON V. 


ROMANTIC STORY 


‘THERE is a cavern in the island of Hoonga’, one of the Tonga 
islands’, in the South Pacific Ocean’; which can only be entered 
by diving into the sea‘, and which has no other light’, than that 
which is reflected from the bottom of the water. A young 
chief discovered it accidentally’, while diving after a turtle’, and 
the use which he made of his discovery’, will probably be sung 
in more than one European language‘, so beautifully is it adapt- 
ed’for a tale in verse’. ee 

There was a tyrannical governor at Vavaoo’, against whom 
one of the chiefs formed a plan of insurrection’. It was betray- 
ed‘, and the chief’, with all his family and kin’, was ordered to 
be destroyed’. He had a beautiful daughter,’ betrothed to a chief 
of high rank‘, and she’ also was included’ in the sentence. The 
youth who had found the cavern’, and had kept the secret to him- 
self, loved’ this damsel. He told her the danger in time’, and per- 
suaded her to trust herself to him’. They got into a canoe’; the 
place of her retreat! was described to her on the way’ to it,—these 
women swim like mermaids‘,—she dived after him’, and rose in 
the cavern’. In the widest part’ it is about fifty feet’; its medium 
height being about the same’, and it is hung with stalactites. 

Here’, he brought her the choicest food’, the finest clothing’, 
mats for her bed’, and sandal oil to perfume’ herself with. Here’, 
_ he visited her’ as often as was consistent with prudence’, and here, 
as may be imagined’, this Tonga Leander’, wooed and won the 
maid’, whom’, to make the interest complete’, he had long loved 
in secret’, when he had no hope. Meantime’ he prepared’, 
with all his dependants’, male and female’, to emigrate in sceret 
to the Fiji * islands’, 

The intention was so well concealed’, that they embarked in - 
safety‘, and his people asked’ him, at the point of their departure, 
if he would not take with him a Tonga wife’; and, accordingly’, 
to their great astonishment’, having steered close to the rock’, 
he desired them to wait while he went into the sea to fetch’ her, 
jumped overboard’, and just as they were beginning to be seri- 
ously alarmed at his long disappearance’, he rose with his mis- 
tress from the water’. ‘This story is not deficient in that which 
_all such stories should have’, to be perfectly delightful—~a fortun- 
ate conclusion’. ‘The party remained at the Fijis’ till the op- 
pressor died‘, and then returned to Vavaoo’, where they enjoyed 
a long and happy life'.—Anonymovs. 


* 
—. es ee 


* Pro. Fee-jee. 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 69 


LESSON VI. 


A HIGHLAND FEUD. 


A pEaDLy feud subsisted’, almost from time immemorial’, be- 
tween the families. of Macpherson of Bendearg’, and Grant of 
Cairn‘, and was handed down unimpaired’ even to the close of 
the last century’. In the earlier times’, the warlike chiefs of 
these names’ found frequent opportunities of testifying their mu- 
tual animosity’; and few inheritors of the fatal quarrel left the 
world’, without having moistened it with the blood of some of 
their hereditary enemies‘. But, in our own day’, the progress 
of civilization’, which had reached even these wild countries’, the 
heart of the North Highlands’, although it could not extinguish 
entirely the transmitted spirit of revenge’, at least kept it within 
_ Safe bounds‘; and the feud of Macpherson and Grant threaten- 
ed’, in the course of another generation’, to die entirely away’. 

It was not, however, without some ebullitions of ancient fierce-;. 
ness’, that the flame, which had burned’ for so many centuries’, 
seemed about tolexpire’. Once’, at a meeting of country gentle- 
men’, on a question of privilege arising’, Bendearg took occa- 
sion to throw out some taunts’, aimed at his hereditary foe', which 
the fiery Grant immediately received as a signal of defiance’, and 
a challenge’ was the consequence. ‘The sheriff of the county’, 
however’, having got intimation of the affair’, put both parties __ 
under arrest’; till at length, by the persuasion of their friends’,— 
not friends by blood’,—and the representations of the magistrate’, 
they shook hands‘, and each pledged’ himself to forget’ the an- 
cient feud of his family’. 

This occurrence’, at the time’, was the object of much interest 
in the country-side’; the rather, that it seemed to give the lie to 
the prophecies, of which every Highland family has an ample 
stock in its traditionary chronicles’, and which expressly predic- 
ted, that the enmity of Cairn and Bendearg should not be quench- 
ed but in blood’. On the seemingly cross-grained circumstance 
of their reconciliation’, some of the young men were seen to 
shake their heads’, as they reflected on the faith and tales of their 
ancestors; but the gray-headed seers shook theirs still more 
wisely’, and answered with the motto of a noble house’,-—«I 
bide my time’.”’ 

There is a narrow pass between the mountains’, in the neigh- 
borhood of Bendearg’, well. known to the traveler who adven. 
tures into these wilds’, in quest of the savage sublimities of na- 
ture’. Ata little distance’, it has the appearance of an immense 
artificial bridge thrown over a tremendous chasm‘, but, on nearer 
approach’, is seen to be a wall of nature’s own masonry’, formed 


70 MGUFFEY'S RHETORICAL GUIDE ag? 


of vast and rugged bodies of solid rock’, piled on each other’ as 
if in the giant sport of the architect’. Its sides are’, im some 
places’, covered with trees of a considerable size‘; and the passen- 
ger,’ who has a head steady enough to look down the precipice,’ 
may see the aeries of birds of prey beneath his feet’... The path 
across is so narrow’, that it cannot admit of two persons passing 
along-side’; and, indeed, none but-natives’, accustomed to the 
scene from infancy’, would attempt the dangerous route at all, 
though it saves a circuit of three miles‘. Yet it sometimes hap- 
pens’, that two travelers meet in the middle‘, owing to the curve 
formed by the pass’ preventing a view from either side‘, and, 
when this is the case’, one is obliyed to lie down’, while the oth- 
er crawls over his body’. ts 

One day’, shortly after the incident we have mentioned’, a 
highlander was walking fearlessly along the pass‘; sometimes 
bending over to watch the flight of wild birds that built below’, 
and sometimes pushing a fragment from the top’, to see it dashed 
against the uneven sides, and bounding from rock to rock’, until 
the echo'of its rebowtid died in faint and hollow murmurs at the 
bottom’. When he had gained the highest part of the arch’, he 
observed another coming leisurely up on the epposite’ side, and’ 
being himself on the patrician order, called out to him to halt’ 
and lie down’. The person’, however’, disregarded the com- 
mand‘, and the highlanders met’, face to face’, on the summit. 

They were Grant and Macpherson’; the two hereditary ene- 
mies’, who pons have gloried’ and rejoiced’ in mortal strife with 
each other’, on a hill-side’.. They turned deadly pale at this: fatal 
rencounter’ *‘ ] was first at the top’,”’ said Maepherson’, ‘and called 
out first’. Lie down,‘ that I may pass over in peace.” ‘ When the 
Grant prostrates himself before Magbherton ”” answered the oth- 
_ er’, it must be with the sword driven through his body’.”’ “ ‘Turn 

ele then,’ said Macpherson‘, ‘and repass as you eame..” 

‘Go baek you urself’, if you like it’,”’ replied Grant; «1 will not 
be the first of my name to turn before the Macphersen’.”’ 

This was their short conference’, and the result’ exactly as 
each had anticipated’. They then threw their bonnets over the 


precipice’, and advanced’, with a slow and cautious pace’, closer. 


to eacn other’, They were both unarmed’; and, stretching their 
limbs like men preparing for a desperate struggle’, they planted 
their feet firmly on the ground’, compressed their lips’, knit their 
dark brows’, and, fixing fierce and watchful eyes on each other’, 
stood there prepared for the onset’. 

They both grappled at the same moment’; but being of equal 
strength’, were unable for some time to shift each other’s posi- | 
tion’, and remained standing fixed on a rock with suppressed — 
breath’, and muscles strained the ‘top of their bent’,’’ like 


ae ale 
s : <n % Oe! 


a sets 
. oe ‘ 4 “tea 


Se, 
pe 


rey ae 


-_ 


> 


ems Fray wedi : WS 
xf ant ‘ 1 Eg 


¥ OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 71 
statues carved out of the solid stone’. At length’, Macpherson’, 
suddenly removing his right foot’, so as to give him a greater 
purchase’, stooped his body’, and bent his enemy down with him 
by main strength’, till they both leaned over the precipice’, look- 
ing downward into the terrible abyss’. The contest was as yet 
doubtful’, for Grant had placed his foot firmly on an elevation at 
the brink’, and had equal command of his enemy‘,—but’, at this 
moment Maepherson sunk slowly and firmly on his knee’, and 
while Grant suddenly started back’, stooping to take the suppos- 
ed advantage’, he whirled him over his head into the gulf below’. 
Macpherson himself fell backwards’, his body hanging partly 
over the rock’; a fragment gave way beneath’ him, and he sank 


farther’, till, catching with a desperate effort at the solid stone 


above’, he regained his footing’. 

‘There was a pause of death-like stillness‘, and the bold heart 
of Macpherson’ felt sick and faint’. At length’, as if compelled 
unwillingly by some mysterious feeling’, he looked down over the 
precipice’. Grant had caught’, with a death-gripe’, by the rugged 
point of a rock\—his enemy was almost within his reach!—his 
face was turned upward‘, and there was init’ horror and despair’, — 


. but he uttered no word or cry‘. The next moment’, he loosed his 


Peninsula’.—ANonymovus. 


hold‘; and the next’, his brains were dashed out before the eyes 
of his hereditary foe’. The mangled body disappeared among 
the trees‘, and its last heavy and hollow sound’ arose from the 
bottom’. Macpherson returned home’ an altered man‘. He 
purchased a commission in th2 army’, and fell in the wars of the 


~ 


Remarx. In the sixth paragraph, the phrase ‘‘ Go back yourself, if you 
like it,’’ is placed in an inverted order. he natural order evidently would 
be, ‘‘ If you like it, go back yourself... The sense is incomplete at the word 
**it,’” which therefore requires the rising inflection; but it is complete at.the 
word “* yourself,”’ and here accordingly the falling inflection is given, although 
these two clauses have changed their natural order. ‘This explanation will 
apply to many cases of a similar character. 


LESSON VIL. 
THE CHINESE PRISONER. 


A cerrsin emperor of China’, on his accession to the throne 
of his ancestors’, commanded a general release of all those who 
were confined in prison for debt’. Among that number was 
an oldeman’, who had fallen an early victim to adversity‘, and 


whose days of imprisonment’, reckoned by the notches he had = 


eut on the door of his gloomy cell’, expressed the annual cir- 
euit Of more than fifty suns‘. 


72 MWGUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE » 


With trembling hands and faltering steps’, he departed from 
his mansion of sorrow’; his eyes were dazzled with the splendor 
of light‘, and the face of nature presented to his view’ a perfect 
paradise’. The jail in which he had been imprisoned’, stood at 
some distance from Pekin’, and to that city he directed his course’, 
impatient to enjoy the caresses of his wife’, his children’, and his 
friends’. 

Having with difficulty found his way to the street in which 
his decent mansion had formerly stood’, his heart became more 
and more elated at every step he advanced’. With joy he pro- 
ceeded’, looking eagerly around’; but he observed few of the ob- 
jects’ with which he had been formerly conversant’. A magnifi- 
cent edifice’ was erected on the sité of the house which he had 
inhabited’; the dwellings of his neighbors had assumed a new 
form’; and he beheld not a single face’ of which he had the least 
remembrance’. 

An aged beggar’, who, with trembling limbs’, stood at the gate 
of an ancient portico’, from which he had been thrust by the in- 
solent domestic who guarded it’, struck his attention’. He stop- 
ped, therefore’, to give him a small pittance out of the amount of 
the bounty with which he had been supplied by the emperor’, 
and received, in return, the sad tidings’, that his wife had fallen 
_a lingering sacrifice’ to penury and sorrow’; that his children 
were gone to seek their fortunes’ in distant or unknown climes’; 
and that the grave’ contained his nearest and most valued friends’. 

Overwhelmed with anguish’, he hastened to the palace of his 
sovereign’, into whose presence his hoary locks’ and mournful 
visage’ soon obtained admission’; and’, casting himself at the feet 
of the emperor’, ‘‘ Great Prince’,”’ he cried’, “send me back to 
that prison’ from which mistaken mercy has delivered‘ me! I 
have survived my family and friends‘, and even in the midst of 
this populous city’, I find myself in a dreary solitude’. ‘The 
cell of my dungeon’ protected me from the gazers at my wretch- 
edness‘; and whilst secluded from society’, I was the less sensi- 
ble of the loss of its enjoyments’. J am now tortured with the 
view of pleasure in which I cannot participate‘; and die with 
thirst’, though streams of delight surround’ me.”’—Prrcivar 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 


LESSON VIII. 


TO THE DEAD, 


How many now are dead to me’ 
That live to others yet'! 
How many are alive to me’ 
r wY . . , 
Who crumble in their graves’, nor see 
That sickening, sinking look’, which we, 
Till dead, can ne’er forget". 


Beyond the blue seas’, far away’, 
Most wretthedly alone’, 
One died in prison’, far away’, 
Where stone on stone shut out the day’, 
And never hope or comfort’s ray’ 
In his loné dungeon shone’. 


Dead to the world‘, alive to me’, 

Though months and years have pass’d'; 
In a lone hour, hig sigh to me’ 
Comes Jike the hum of some wild bee’, 
And then his form and face I see’, 

As when I saw him last’. 


And one, with a bright lip, and cheek’, 
And eye, is dead to me’. 

How pale the bloom of his smooth cheek’ 

His \ip was cold‘—it would not speak’: 

His heart was dead'—for it did not break’: 


And his eye’, for it did not see’. 


Then for the diving’ * be the tomb’, 
And for the_dead,’ the smile’; 

Engrave, oblivion on the tomb’ 

Of pulseless life and deadly bloom , 

Dim is such glare‘, but bright the gloom 
Around the funeral pile’.—J. G. C. Bratnarp. 


LESSON IX. 
THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH. 


Unper a spreading chestnut tree 
The village smithy stands‘, 

The smith’, a mighty man is he’, 
With large and sinewy hands’; 

And the muscles of his brawny arms’ 
Are strong as iron bands’. 


—— 


4 * See Rule IT., 4. 


74 


M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


His hair is crisp’, and black’, and long"; 
His face’ is like the tan‘; 

His brow is wet’ with honest sweat’; 
He earns whate’er he can’, 

And looks the whole world in the face’, 
For he owes not any man‘. 


Week in’, week. out’, from morn’ till night’, 
You can hear his bellows blow’; 
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge 

With measured beat and slow’, 
Like a seXton ringing the village bell’, 
When the evening sun is low’. 


And children coming home from school’ 
Look in at the open door’; 

They love to see the flaming forge’, 
And hear the bellows roar’, 

And catch the burning sparks that fly 
Like chaff from a threshing-floor’. 


He goes, on Sunday, to the church’, 
And sits’ among his boys’: . 
He hears the parson’ pray and preach’, 
He hears his daughter’s voice’, 

Singing in the village choir’, 
And it makes his heart rejoice’. 


ft sounds to him like her mother’s voice , 
Singing in Paradise! 

He needs must think of her once more’, 
How in the grave she lies’; 

And with his hard’, rough hand he wipes’ 
A tear out of his eyes’. 


Toiling’—rejoicing’—sorrowing’— 
Onward through life he goes’; 

Hach morning sees some task begin’, 
Each evening sees it close’; 

Something attempted’—something done’, 
Has earn’d a night’s repose’. 


Thanks’, thanks‘ to thee’, my worthy friend’, 
For the lesson thou hast taught’! 
Thus, at the flaming forge of life’, 
Our fortunes must be wrought’, 
Thus, on its sounding anvil, shaped’ 
Each burning deed and thought'’.\—H. W. Lonerrinow, > 


\ 


ne | 


OF. THE ELECTIC SERIES. a 


LES SON X 
THE LONE INDIAN. 


For many a returning autumn’, a lone Indian was seen stand- 
ing at the consecrated spot we have mentioned’; but, just thirty 
years after the death of Soonseetah’, he was noticed for the last 
time’. His step was then firm’, and his figure erect’, though he 
seemed old’ and way-worn’. Age had not dimmed the fire of 
his eye’, but an expression of deep melancholy’ had settled on 
his wrinkled brow’. It was Powontonamo'—he who had once’ 
been the eagle of the Mohawks‘. He came to lie down and die 
beneath the broad oak’, which shadowed the grave’ of Sunny- 
eye.’ 

ibe the white man’s ax‘ had been there.. The tree that he 
had planted was dead‘; and the vine’, which had leaped SO vigor 
ously from branch to branch’, now yellow and with€ring’, was 
falling to the ground’. A deep groan burst from the soul “of the 
savage’. lor thirty wearisome years’, he had watched that oak’, 
with its twining tendrils‘. ‘They were the only things left in the 
wide world for him to love’, and they’ were gone’. He looked 
abroad’. ‘The hunting-land of his tribe was changed’, like its 
chieftain’. No light canoe now shot down the river’, like a bird 
upon the wing’. ‘The laden boat’ of the white man alone broke 
its smooth surface’. ‘The Englishman’s road wound like a ser- 
pent around the banks of the Mohawk’; and iron hoofs had 
so beaten down the war-path’, that a hawk’s eye could not dis- 
cover an Indian track. ‘The last wigwam was destroyed’; and 
the sun looked boldly down upon spots he had sa visited by 
stealth’, during thousands and thousands of moons’. 

The few remaining trees’, clothed in the fantastic mourning of | 
autumn’; the long line of heavy clouds’, melting away before the 
coming sun’; and the distant mountain, seen through the blue 
mist of departing twilight’, alone remained as he had seen them 
in his boyhood’. All things spoke a sad language to the heart 
of the desolate Indian’. ‘ Yes‘,” said he, “the young oak’ and 
the vine’ are like the Eagle and the Sunny-eye’.. They are cut 
down’, torn’,and trampled’ on. ‘The leaves are falling’, and: the 
clouds are scattering’ like my people’. I wish I could once more 
see the trees standing thick’, as they did when my mother held 
me to her bosom’, and sung the warlike deeds of the Mohawks'‘.”’ 

A mingled expression of grief and anger passed over his face’, 
as he watched a Joaded beat in its passage across the stream. 
6 a white man carries focd to his wife and children’, and he 
finds them in his home’,”’ said he‘; “‘ where is the squaw and pap- 
poose of the red‘ man? They are here'!”’. As he spokes he — 

‘fixed his eye thoughtfully on the grave’. After a gloomy silence’, 


by 


2 : 
76 M’GUFFEY'S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


he again looked round upon the fair scene’, with a wandering 
and troubled gaze‘. “The pale‘ face may like it,’? murmured’ 
he’; “but an Indian’ cannot die here in peace‘.’”? So saying’, 
he broke his bow-string’, snapped his arrows’, threw them on the 
burial-place of his fathers’, and departed forever‘.—Muss Fran- 


Cis. 


Remark. The words ‘‘down,’”’ ‘‘torn,’? and ‘‘trampled,’”’ in the last 
paragraph but one, and ‘‘string,’’ ‘‘arrows,’’ ‘“‘fathers,’’ and ‘‘ forever,’’ in 
the last paragraph, are examples of inflection which may, perhaps, more ap- 
propriately come under the head of ‘‘ series;’’ but, by examining them, it will 
be found, that the rule which gives the falling inflection wherever the sense 
is complete, and that which requires the last but one to be the rising inflec- 
tion, are applicable in these cases. Indeed, the rule for series is substantially 
the combination of these two principles with that of emphasis, as laid down 
in Rule IT, 


LESSON XI. 
UNWRITTEN MUSIC. 


THERE is a melancholy music’ in autumn’. The leaves float 
sadly about’ with a look of peculiar desdlation’, waving capri- 
ciously in the wind’, and falling with a just audible sound’, that 
is a very sigh for its sadness’. And then’, when the breéze is 
fresher’, though the early autumn months are mosily still’, they 
are swept on with a cheerful rustle over the naked harvest fields’, 
and about in the eddies of the blast’; and though I have’, some- 
times, in the glow of exercise’, felt my life securer in the triumph 
of the brave contest’, yet, in the chill of the evening’, or when 
any sickness of the mind or body was on me’, the moaning of 
those withered leaves’ has pressed down my heart like a sorrow’, 
and the cheerful fire’, and the:voices of my many sisters’, might 
scarce remove’ it. | 

Then for the music’ of winter’. I love to listen’ to the falling 
of snow’. It is an unobtrusive’ and sweet’ music. You may 
temper your heart to the serénest mood’, by its low murmur’. 
It-is that kind of music’, that only obtrudes upon your ear when 
your thoughts come languidly’. You need not hear’ it, if your 
mind is not idle’. It realizes my dream of another world’, where 
music is intuitive’ like a thought’, and comes’, only when it is re- 
membered*. is Sar 

And the frost‘ too has a melodious “ministry’.” You will 
hear its crystals shoot in the dead of a clear night’, as if the. 
moon-beams were splintering like arrows on the ground; and 
you would listen to it the more earnestly’, that it is the going on 
of one of the most cunning and beautiful of nature’s deep myste- : 
ries‘ I know nothing so wonderful’ as the shooting of a eryse 

toe a ae a 


> 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. age by: 


tal‘. God has hidden its principle as yet from the inquisitive 
eye of the philosopher’, and we must be content to gaze on its 
exquisite beauty’, and listen, in mute wonder’, to the noise of its 


> invisible wor kmanship’. It is too fine a knowledge forus.. We 
shall comprehend’ it, when we know how the morning stars sang 


together’. 
You would hardly look for music in the dreariness of early* 


_ winter. But, before the keener frosts set in’, and while the 


warm winds are yet stealing back occasionally, like regrets of 
the departed summer’, there will come a soft rain or a heavy 
mist’, and when the north wind returns’, there will be drops sus- 
pended like ear-ring jewels’, between the filaments of the cedar 
tassels’, and in the feathery edges of the dark green hemlocks', 
and, if the clearing up is not followed by the heavy wind’, they 
will all be frozen in their places like well set gems‘. The next 
morning’, the warm sun comes out’, and by the middle of the 
warm dazzling forenoon’, they are all loosened from the close 
touch which sustained’ them, and they will drop at the lightest 
motion’. If you go along upon the south side of the wood at that’ 
hour, you will hear music‘.s ‘The dry foliage of the summer’s 
shedding’ is scattered over the ground’, and the round, hard drops 
sing out clearly and distinctly’, as they are shaken down with 
the stirring of the breeze’. It is something like the running 
of deep and rapid water‘, only more fitful’ and merrier’; but to 
one who goes out in nature with his heart open’, it is a pleasant 
music‘, and, in contrast with the stern character of the season’, 
delightful’. 

Winter has many other sounds that give pleasure to the seeker 
for hidden sweetness’; but they are too rare and accidental to be 
described distinctly’. ‘The brooks have a sullen and muffled 
murmur’ under their frozen surface; the ice in the distant river 
heaves up with the swell of the current’, and falls again to the 
bank with a prolonged echo’; and the woodsman’s ax rings cheer- 
fully out’ from the bosom of the unrobed forest’. ‘These are’, 
at best, however, but melancholy’ sounds, and, like all that meets 
the eye in that cheerless season’, they but drive in the heart upon — 
itself. I believe it is ordered’ in God’s wisdom’. We forget’ 
ourselves in the enticement’ of the sweet summer‘. Its musi¢ 
and its loveliness’ win away the senses that link up the affec- 
tions’, and we need a hand to turn us back tenderly‘, and hide | 
from us the outward idols’, in whose worship we are forgetting 
the pigh and more spiritual altars.—N. P. Winuis. 


oe. The words ‘‘ frost” in the third paragraph, and “forget”? in the 


last, have the falling inflection, because emphatic, according to Rule 1. 


<2 


pr 


2 


78° * WGUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


EXERCISES ON INFLECTION—Continvurp 


er | 
a 
© 


rising inflection is used, 
When the sense is incomplete. Rule 1V. 
At the last pause but one in a sentence. Rule VI. 
After the nominative addressed. Rule IV. 
In negative sentences, Rule V. 
. in interrogative sentences, which can be answered by ‘yes’ 
or “no.”” Rule VII. 
The falling inflection is used, 
1. Where the sense is complete. Rule . ~ 
2. In emphatic expressions, such as imperative mood, exclama- 
tions, apostrophe, the language of passion, &c. Rule II. 
3. In interrogative sentences, which cannot be answered by * yes”’ 
or no.” Rule III. 


oo eae aaa: 


LESSON XII. 


A POLITICAL PAUSE. 


In this lesson, the influence of a negative in determining to the rising in- 
flection, is particularly noticeable. 

‘Bur we must pause’,” says the honorable gentleman’. What"! 
must the bowels of Great Britain be torn out’,—her best blood 7 
spilt’,—her treasures wasted’,—that you may make an experi-~ 
ment’? Put yourselves‘,—O! that you would put yourselves 
on the field of battle’, and learn to judge of the sort.of horrors 


ee 


‘you excite’. In former’ wars, a man might’, at least, have some’ — 


feeling, some‘ interest, that served to balance in his mind’ the im- 
pressions which a scene of carnage and death must inflict’, 

But if a man were present now’ at the field of slaughter, 
and were to inquire for what they were fighting’,—*“ Fight- 
ing’!’’* would be the answer’; “they are not fighting’; they are 
pausing’. ‘ Why is that man expirmg’ Why is that other 
writhing with agony’? What means this implacable fury’?”’ 
‘The answer must be’, “ You are quite wrong", sir’, you deceive 
yourself,—they are not fighting’,—do not disturb’ them,—they 
are merely pausing’! ‘This man is not expiring with agony’,— 
that man is not dead ,—he is only pausing’! Bless you’, sir’, 
they are not angry’ with one another; they have now no cause 


of quarrel’; but their country thinks that there should be a pause’. 


All that you see is nothing like fighting’,—there is no harm’, 


‘nor cruelty’, nor bloodshed’ in it; ; it is nothing more than a po- 


litical pause’! It is merely to try an experiment\—to see whe- 
ther Bonaparte will not behave himself better’ than heretofore; 


* Rule VIIL 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES 79 


and in the mean time’, we have agreed to a pause, in pure friend- 


ship!’ . 

And is this the way that you are to show yourselves the ad- 
vocates of order’? You take up a system calculated to uncivil- 
ize the world’, to destroy order‘, to trample on religion’, to sti- 
fle in the heart, not merely the generosity of noble sentiment’, 
but the affections of social nature’; and in the prosecution of this 
system’, you spread terror’ and devastation all around’ you.—Fox. 


Remark. The words ‘‘ pause’’ and “‘ pausing’? may, perhaps, with equal 
propriety, receive the falling circumflex. 


“Sy 


LESSON, XIU. 


ae SONG OF THE STARS. 


In the following lesson, the inflections characteristic of the imperative mood — 


and of exclamations are exemplified. 


Wuen the radiant morn of creation broke , 

And the world in the smile of God awoke, 

And the empty realms of darkness and death 
Were moved through their depths by his mighty breath , 
And orbs of beauty’, and spheres of flame’, 

From the void abyss, by myriads came’, - 

In the joy of youth as they darted away’, 

Through the widening waste of space to play’, 


Their silver voices, in chorus rung"; 

And this was the song’ the bright ones sung :-— 
“Away, away! through the wide, wide sky‘,— 
The fair. blue fields that before us lie‘,— 

Each sun‘ with the worlds that round us roll, 
Hach planet’ poised on her turning pole, 

With her isles of green‘, and her clouds of white’, 
And her waters that lie, like fluid light". 


“Mor the source of glory uncovers his face , 
And the brightness o’erflows unbounded space , 
And we drink’, as we go’, the luminous tides’, 
In our ruddy air’ and our blooming sides‘. 

Lo‘! yonder the living splendors play’; 

Away’, on our joyous path’, away! 


* Look’, look‘, through our glittering ranks afar’, 
Jn the infinite azure’, star after star’, 
How they brighten and bloom as they swiftly pass‘! 
_ How the verdure runs o’er each rolling mass'! 
And the path of the gentle winds is seen’, 
Where the small waves dance’, and the young woods lean’. 


eet 


80 


In the two succeedin 


MGUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


And see‘! where the brighter day-beams pour’, 

How the rainbows hang in the sunny shower’; 

And the morn and the eve with their pomp of hues’, 
Shift o’er the bright planets, and shed their dews'; 
And ’twixt them both on the teeming ground’, 

With her shadowy course’, the night goes round"! 


Away‘! away’! in our blossoming bowers’, 

In the soft air, wrapping these spheres of ours’ ’ 

In the seas and fountains that shine with morn’, 

See‘, love is brooding’, and life is born’, 

And ‘breathing myriads are breaking from night’, 
‘To rejoice , like us’, in motion and light’. 


‘‘ Glide on‘, in your beauty‘, ye youthful spheres’, 
To weave the dance that measures the years’. 
Glide on’, in glory and gladness sent’ 

To the farthest wall of the firmament’, 

The boundless visible smile of Him’, 


To the vail of whose brow’ our lamps are dim*.’”’—Brvyanrt. 


LESSON XIV. 


SORROW AND HOPE 


the nominative case addressed, and in the imperative mood. 


O Lorn’! rebuke me not in thy wrath’, 
Nor chasten me in thy fierce anger’. 


Be merciful’ unto me, O Jehovah” for I am weak . 


Heal‘ me, O Jehovah’! for my bones tremble’; 
My whole soul is in terrors’. 
And thou’, Jehovah’! O how long*? 
Return’, 0 Jehovah’, deliver my soul’. 
O save’ me for thy mercies” sake, 
For in death’, there is no remembrance of thee’, 
In the grave’, who shall give thee thanks"? 
I am wearied with my groaning" . 
All night’ my bed is wet with tears’. 
With tears’ I make my couch to swim’ , 
Mine eye is consumed’ with sorrow’, 
It looks but feebly’ upon all mine enemies’ > 
Depart’ from me, ye workers of iniquity’! 
For God hath heard the voice of my weeping”. 
Jehovah hath heard my supplication’ : 
Jehovah hath accepted my prayer’. 
Ashamed, confounded shall be mine enemies’, 
They shall fall back’, and be ashamed suddenly’. 


[ Ps. vi., Herper’s Hessew Poetry. 


lessons, observe particularly the intlections used in 


y 
a 


es | OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 81 


LESSON XV. 
p -THE HOUR OF PRAYER. — 


Cuixp’, amidst the flowers at play’ : 
While ‘the red light fades away’; : 
Mother’, with thine earnest eye’, 
Ever following silently’; 

Father’, by the breeze at eve’ 
Call’d thy harvest-work to leave’;— 
Pray‘!—-Ere yet the dark hours be’, 
Lift the heart, and bend the knee’. 


Traveler’, in the stranger’s land’, 
Far from thine own household band’; 
Mourner’, haunted by the tone 

Of a voice from this world gone’; 
Captive’, in whose narrow cell 
Sunshine hath not leave to dwell’; 
Sailor,’ on the darkening” sea’ ;— 

Lift the heart, and bend the knee.” 


Warrior’, that from battle won’, 

Breathest now at set of sun’; 

Woman’, o’er the lowly slain’, 

Weeping on his burial plain’; 

Ye that triumph’, ye that sigh’, 

Kindred by one holy tie’; 

Heaven’s first star alike ye see’, 

Lift the heart’, and bend the knee‘’.—Mrs. Hemans. 


+. 


LESSON XVI. 
PROSPECTS OF THE CHEROKEES. 


In this lesson, the inflections belonging to interrogative sentences may 
be noticed. 

Wurruer are the Cherokees to go‘? What are the benefits’ 
of the change? What system has been matured for thgir se- 
eurity? What laws for their government? ‘These questions 
are answered’ only by gilded promises in general terms; sas 
are to become enlightened and civilized husbandmen’. They 
now live by: the cultivation of the soil’ and the mechanical arts’. 
It is proposed to send them from their cotton fields’, their farms 
and their gardens’, to a distant and unsubdued wilderness’; to 
make fhem ante of the earth’; to remove —— from their 


- 


chureh 168", near ma wile. settlements’, to frowning incestat , sur- 
Lie al yah naked savages‘, that they may become: enlightened’ 


Se - % ie 


82 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUID 


We have pledged to them our protection’; and, instead of shield- 
ing them where they now are’, within our reach’, under our own 
arm’, we send these natives of a southern clime’ to northern’ re- 
gions, amongst fierce and warlike barbarians. And what securi- 
ty do we propose‘ to them? A new guaranty! Who can look 
an Indian in the face’, and say‘ to him, We and our fathers’, for 
more than forty years’, have made to you the most solemn pro- 
mises‘; we now violate and trample upon them all‘; but offer 
you in their stead’—another’ guaranty ! z 

Will they be in no danger of attack from the primitive inhabi- 
tants of the regions to which they emigrate’? How can it be 
otherwise’? ‘The official documents show us the fact’, that some 
of the few who have already gone’, were involved in conflict 
with the native tribes , and compelled to a second'removal. — 

How are they to subsist’? Has not that country now as great 
an Indian population as it can sustain’? What has become of 
the original’ occupants? Have we not already caused accession 
to their numbers’, and been compressing them more and more”? 
Is not the consequence inevitable’, that some must be stinted in 
the means of subsistence’? Here too we have the light of expe- 
rience’... By an official communication from Governor Clark’, 
the superintendent of Indian affairs’, we learn that the most 
powerful tribes’, west of the Mississippi’, are, every year, so dis- 
tressed by famine’, that many die for want of food’. The scenes 
of their suffering’ are hardly exceeded by the sieges of Jerusa- 
lem and Samaria’. ‘There’, might be seen the miserable mother’, 
in all the tortures which hunger could inflict’, giving her last 
morsel for the sustenance of her child’, and then fainting’, sink- 
ing’, and actually dying‘ of starvation! And the orphan’! no 
one can spare 2é. food’—it is put alive‘ into the grave of the pa- 
‘rent, which thus closes over the quick’ and the dead’. And this 
is not a solitary‘instance only’, ‘The living child’ is often‘ buried 
with the dead mother.’’ 

I know, sir’, to what I expose‘ myself. ‘T'o feel any solicitude 
for the fate of the Indians’, may be ridiculed as false philanthro- 
py’ and morbid sensibility‘. Others may boldly say’, “ Their 
blood be upon us';”’ and sneer at scruples’, as weakness unbecom- 
ing the stern character of a politician’. If, sir’, in order to hecome 
a politician’, it be necessary to divest the mind of the principles 
of good faith and moral obligation’, and harden the heart against 
every touch of humanity’, I confess that I am not —and by the 
blessing of heaven’, will never\ be—a politician. 

Sir’, we cannot wholly silence the monitor within’. It may not 
be heard amidst the clashing of the arena’, in the tempest and 
convulsions of political contentions’; but its still small voice will 
speak’ to us—when we meditate alone at even-tide’; in the silent 


SY ; ; ot 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 83 


watches of the night‘; when we lie down’ and when we rise up* 
from a solitary pillow; and in that dread hour’, when,—‘* not what 
we have done for ourselves’, but what we Lave done for ofhers*‘,”’ 
will be our joy and strength’; when’, to have secured, even to a 
poor and despised Jndian‘, a spot of earth upon which to rest 
his aching head’; to have given him but a cup of cold water‘ in 
charity’, will be a greater treasure’, than to have been the conquer- 
ors of kingdoms’, and lived in luxury upon the spoils.\—Spracue. 


99 


Remark. It will be observed that the words ‘‘ Indian’’ and ‘‘ water’’ in 
the last paragraph, receive the falling inflection ag a mark of emphasis, since 
there is no other reason why they should not have the rising inflection. There 
is also, in the same paragraph, an example of the inflections belonging to a 
series of members, and also to antithesis, which subjects will be more partic- 
ularly noticed hereafter. 


EXERCISES ON INFLECTION—Convinvuep. 


THe rising inflection is generally used, 
1. Where the sense is incomplete. Rule IV. 
2. At the last pause but one ina sentence. Rule VI. 
3. After the nominative addressed. Rule IV. 
4. In negative sentences. Rule V. 
5. In interrogative sentences which can be answered by ‘ yes”? or 
“no.” Rule VII. . 
6. After an exclamation, when used interrogatively, or as an echo 
of the thought. Rule VIII. 
7. At one of the members of an antithesis. Rule 1X. 
8. At the first member of a sentence, the parts of which are unit- 
ed by a disjunctive conjunction. Rule X. 
9. At the last member of a commencing series. Rule XT. 
10. At the last member but one of a concluding series. Rule XI. 
11. At the close of a parenthesis, when it is preceded by the ris- 
ing inflection. Rule XII. 


The falling inflection is generally used, 

1. Where the sense is complete. Rule I. 

2. In emphatic expressions, such as imperative mood, passionate 
exclamations, emphatic repetition, &c. Rule II. 

3. In interrogative sentences, which cannot be answered by “‘ yes”’ 
or “mo.’’ Rule III. 

4. At one of the members of an antithesis (generally the last.) 
Rule IX. . 

5. At the last member of a sentence, the parts of which are unit- 

ed disjunctively. Rule X. 

G. At all the members of a commencing series, except the last. 

~ Rule XT, 

7. At all the members of a concluding series, except the last but- 
one. Rule XI. , 


&4 M GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


8. At the close of a parenthesis, where the next preceding it is the 
falling inflection. Rule XII. . 


Remark. Where the clause included in the parenthesis is complicated, 
or a part.of it emphatic, or where it is disconnected with the main subject, 
the inflections must be governed by the sense, as in other cases. 


LESSON XVIL 


EFFECTS OF UNIVERSAL BENEVOLENCE. 


_In this example, observe the influence of series in determining the inflec- 
tion. 

Were the divine principle of benevolence in full operation 
among the intelligences that people our globe’, this world would 
be transformed into a paradise’, the moral desert would be chang- 
ed into a fruitful field’, and “blossom as the rose‘,’’ and Eden 
would again appear’ in all its beauty and delight’. Fraud’, deceit’, 
and artifice’, with all their concomitant train of evils’, would no 
longer walk rampant in every land‘. Prosecutions‘, lawsuits‘, and 
all the innumerable, vexatious litigations which now disturb the 
peace of society,’ would cease from among men’. Every debt 
would be punctually paid‘; every commodity sold at its just val- 
ue’; every article of merchandise exhibited in its true character’; 
every promise faithfully performed’; every dispute amicably ad- 
justed’; every man’s character held in estimation’; every rogue 
and cheat banished from society’; and the whole world trans- 
formed into the abode of honesty and peace’. 

Injustice and oppression would no longer walk triumphant 
through the world’, while the poor, the widow, and the father- 
less’ were groaning under the iron rod of those who had depriv- 
ed them of every comfort’. No longer should we see a hard- 
hearted creditor’ doom a poor,unfortunate man, for the sake of a 
few dollars’, to rot in a jail’, while his family were pining in 

wretchedness and want’. No longer should we hear the harsh 
creaking of iron doors’; the clanking of the chains of criminals’; 
the sighs and groans of the poor slave’; ; nor the Be ofa 
eruel master’. 

The tongue of the slanderer’, and the whisperings of the back- 
biter’, would no longer be heard in their malicious attempts to 
sow the seeds of discord among brethren‘. Falsehood’, in all its 
ramifications’, would be banished from the intercourse of socie- 
ty‘. No longer would the votaries of falsehood triumph over 
blasted hopes’, cruel disappointments’, ruined credit’, and black- 
ened reputation’. 

Ambition would no 0 longer wade through slaughter to a drone’ : 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 85 


nor trample on the rights of an injured people’. All would re- 
gard as an eternal disgrace to the human character’, that scourge 
which has drenched the earth with human gore’; convulsed ev- 
ery nation under heaven‘; produced tenfold more misery than 
all the destructive elements of nature’; and swept from existence 
so many millions of mankind’. No longer should we behold 
the fire blazing on the mountain-tops, to spread the alarm of in- 
vading armies‘; nor the city which was once full of inhabitants’, 
“sitting solitary’. ” Nation would not lift up sword against na- 
tion’, nor would they learn war any more’. ‘The instruments of 
cruelty’, the stake‘, the rack’, the knout', and the lash’, would 
no longer lacerate and torture the wretched culprit‘; no more 
would be forged cannons‘, guns‘, swords’, and darts‘; but the in- 
fluence of reason and affection’,would preserve order and harmo- 
ny throughout every department of society‘.—Dicx. 


Remark. The phrase, ‘‘ the instruments of cruelty,’’ includes the whole 


of the succeeding series, viz. ‘‘stake,’’ ‘‘rack,”’ ‘‘ knout,”’ and ‘‘lash,’’ and 
does not form a part of it. 


LESSON XVIII. 
Select Paragraphs in Prose. 
In these paragraphs, notice the inflections proper to antithesis and serves. 


THE FINAL JUDGMENT. 


Berore that asssembly every man’s good’ deeds will be de- 
clared, and his most secret sins‘ disclosed. As no elevation of 
rank’ will then give a title to respect’, no obscurity of condition’ 
shall exclude the just from public honor,’ or screen the guilty 
from public shame‘. Opulence‘ will find itself no longer pow- 
erful’; poverty’ will be no longer weak’. Birth’ will no longer 
be distinguished’; meanness’ will no longer pass unnoticed’. The 
rich’ and the poor‘ will indeed strangely mingle together’; all the 
inequalities of the present life shall disappear’, and the conquer- 
or’ and his captive’; the monarch’ and his subject’; the lord’ and 
his.vassal'; the statesman’ and the peasant’; the philosopher’ and 
the Siipitered hind’; shall find their distinctions to have Peon 
mere illusions’. ANoNYMoUs. 


DRYDEN AND POPE. 


Dryden knew more of man in his general nature’, and Pope 
in his local manners’. ‘The notions of Dryden were ‘formed by 
comprehensive speculation’, those of Pope Dy minute attention‘. 


86 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


There 1s more dignity‘ in the knowledge of Dryden’, more cer- 
tainty’ in that of Pope’. ‘he style of Dryden is capricious’ and 
varied’, that of Pope cautious’ and uniform’. Dryden obeys the 
motions of his own mind’; Pope constrains‘his mind to his own 
rules of composition’. Dryden’s page is a natural field’, rising 
into inequalities’, and diversified by the varied exuberance of 
abundant vegetation’; Pope’s is the velvet lawn‘, shaven by the 
sythe’, and leveled by the roller’. If the flights of Dryden are 
higher’, Pope continues longer on the wing’. If, of Dryden’s fire’, 
the blaze is brighter’, of Pope’s the heat is more regular‘ and con- 
stant’. Dryden often surpasses’ expectation, and Pope never falls 
below'it. Dryden is read with frequent astonishment’, and Pope 
with perpetual delight’.—Jounson. 


LAS CASAS DISSUADING FROM BATTLE. 


= 


1s then the dreadful measure of your cruelty not yet complete’? 
Battle’! against whom’? Against a king, in whose mild bosom 
your atrocious injuries, even yet, have not excited hate‘, but 
who’, insulted‘ or victorious’, still sues for peace’. Against a 
people’, who never wronged the living being their Creator form- 
ed‘; a people’! who received you as cherished guests‘, with eager 
hospitality and confiding kindness’. Generously and freely did 
they share with you’, their comforts’, their treasures’, and their 
homes’; you repaid them by fraud’, oppression’, and dishonor‘, Pi- 
zarro’, hear‘ me! Hear‘ me, chieftains’! And thou’, All-powerful’! 
whose thunder can shiver into sand the adamantine rock’, whose 
lightnings can pierce the core of the riven and quaking earth’, 
O let thy power give effect to thy servant's words’, as thy spirit 
gives courage to his will! Do not‘, I implore you, chieftains’,— 
do not’, I amplore’ you, renew the foul barbarities your insatiate 
avarice has inflicted on this wretched’, unoffending race’. But 
hush‘, my sighs’!—fall not‘, ye drops of useless sorrow’!—heart- 
breaking anguish’, choke not my utterance’.—SHERIDAN. 


Remark. Inthe first of the above extracts, it will be observed that the 
clause ending with the words ‘‘the philosopher, and the unlettered hind,”’ 
consists of a series of members, each of which contains two antithetiec or 
“contrasted terms. In the last member, therefore, the inflections are used in 
the inverted order, that this member may close with the rising inflection, ac- 
_cording to the law ‘of the series, 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES, 87 


LESSON XIX. 
Select Paragraphs. 
THE PULPIT. 


Tue pulpit, therefore’, (and I name it, filled 

With solemn awe, that bids me well beware 

With what intent I touch that holy thing’,)— 

The pulpit! (when the satirist has, at last, 

Strutting and vap’ring in an empty school, 

Spent all his force and made no proselyte’)— 

I'say the pulpit’ (in the sober use 

Of its legitimate, peculiar powers’) 

Must stand acknowledged, while the world shall stand’, 
The most important and effectual guard’, 

Support’, and ornament’ of virtue’s cause’. 

There, stands the messenger of truth’: there, stands 
The legate of the skies': His theme’, divine’; 

His office’, sacred’; his eredentials’,clear’, 

By him’,the violated law speaks out 

Its thunders’; and, by him’, in strains as sweet 

As angels’use, the Gospel whispers peace’.— Cowper. 


LIBERTY. 


Meanwhile’, we'll sacrifice to liberty’. 

Remember‘, O my friends’, the laws‘, the rights : 
The generous plan of power delivered down’, 

From. age to age’, by your renowned forefathers’, 

(So dearly bought, the price of so much blood’; :) 

O let it never perish in your hands’, 

But piously transmit it to your children . 

Do thou, great Liberty’ , inspire our souls’, 

And make our lives in thy possession happy’ ; 

Or our deaths glorious in thy just defense’.—Appison. 


TO-MORROW. 


To-morrow , didst thou say’? 

Methought I heard Horatio say,-—to-morrow 
Go to‘\—I will not hear‘ of it—to-morrow’! 
"Tis a sharper, who stakes his penury’ 

Against thy plenty’; who takes thy ready cash , 
And pays thee nought’, but wishes’,* hopes’,* ‘and promises , 
‘The currency of idiots’ ;—injurious bankrupt ; 
‘That gulls the easy creditor’.—To-morrow’! 
ftisa period nowhere to be found’ 

In all the hoary registers of ‘Time’, 

~ Unless perchance in the fool’s‘ calendar. 

~ Wisdom disclaims‘ the word, nor holds society 
With those who own’ it. No’ o’, my Horatio’, 


* Rule XJ, Note. 


88 M'GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


*Tis Fancy’s' child, and Folly’ is its father’; 
Wrought of such stuff as dreams are, and as baseless 
As the fantastic visions of the evening‘.—Corron. 


HUMANITY. 


I would not enter on my list of friends , 

(Though graced with polished manners and fine sense’, 
Yet wanting sensibility’,) the man 

Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm’. 

An inadvertent’ step may crush the snail’, 

That crawls at evening in the public path’; 

But he that has humanity’, forewarned’, 

Will tread aside, and let the reptile live’. 

The sum is this‘: If man’s convenience’, health , 

Or safety’interfere, his’rights and claims 

Are paramount, and must extinguish theirs’. 

Klse they are ai/‘,the meanest things that are’, 

As free to live’, and to enjoy that life’, 

As God was free to form‘ them at the first, 

Who, in his sovereign wisdom’, made them all‘.—Cowrrr. 


LESSON XX. 
* CHARACTER OF NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 


_ He is fallen‘! We may now pause before that splendid pro- 
digy’, which towered amongst us like some ancient ruin’, whose 
power terrified the glance its magnificence attracted’. Grand’, 
gloomy’, and peculiar’, he sat upon the throne a sceptered hermit’, 
wrapt in the solitude of his own originality. A mind’,bold’, in- 
dependent’, and decisive’; a will',despotic in its dictates‘; an ener- 
ey’ that distanced expedition’; and a conscience’, pliable to every 
touch of interest’, marked the outlines of this extraordinary char- 
acter'—the most extraordinary, perhaps, that in the annals of 
this world, ever rose’, or reigned’, or fell’.% Flung into life, in 
the midst of a revolution that quickened every energy of a peo- 
ple who acknowledged no superior’, he commenced his course, 
a stranger by birth’, and a scholar by charity’. With no friend 
but his sword’, and no fortune but his talents’, he rushed in the 
list where rank’, and wealth’, and genius’ had arrayed’. them- 


selves, and competition fled’ from him, as from the glance of — 


destiny’. 
He knew no motive’ but interest’; acknowledged no eriterion 


* This lessson is inserted in the Fourth Reader of this series, but a portion — 


of it is introduced again here, because it is so good a specimen of antithesis 
and series. 


, io 


~ 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 89 


but suceess’; he worshiped no God’ but ambition’, and with a 
eastern devotion,’ he knelt at the shrine of his idolatry’. Subsid. 
iary to this’, there was no creed’ that he did not profess‘, there 
was no opinion’ that he did not promulgate‘: in the hope of a 
dynasty’, he upheld the crescent’; for the sake of a divorce’, he 
bowed before the cross‘; the orphan of St. Louis’, he became the 
adopted child of the republic’; and with a parricidal ingratitude’, 
on the ruins both of the throne and the tribune’, he reared the 
throne of his despotism‘. A professed catholic’, he imprisoned 
the Pope‘; a pretended patriot’, he impoverished the country’; 
and in the name of Brutus’, he grappled without remorse’; and 
wore without shame’, the diadem of the Cesars’. 

The whole continent trembled at beho]ding the audacity of his 
designs’, and the miracle of their execution’. Scepticism’ bowed 
to the prodigies of his performance’; romance’ assumed the air 
of history‘; nor was there aught too incredible for belief, or too 
fanciful for expectation’, when the world saw a subaltern of Cor- 
sica’ waving his imperial flag over her most ancient capitals’. 


‘All the visions of antiquity became common-place in his contem- 


plation’: kings were his people’; nations were his out-posts'; and 
he disposed of courts,‘ and crowns‘, and camps‘, and churches’, 
and cabinets’, as if they were the titular dignitaries of the chess- 
board’! Amid all these changes’, he stood immutable as adamant’. 
It mattered little whether in the field’,or in the drawing-room’; 
with the mob’,or the levee’; wearing the jacobin bonnet’,or the 
iron crown’; banishing a Braganza’,or espousing a Hapsburg’; 
dictating peace on a raft to the czar of Russia’‘,or contemplating 
defeat at the gallows of Leipsig’;* he was still the same military 
despot’. 

In this wonderful combination’, his affectations of literature 
must not be omitted’. The jailer of the press’, he affected the 
patronage of letters’; the proscriber of books’, he encouraged 
philosophy‘; the persecutor of authors’, and the murderer of 
printers’, he yet pretended to the protection of learning’; the as- 
sassin of Palm’, the silencer of De Stel’, and the denouncer of 
Kotzebue’; he was the friend of David‘, the benefactor of De 
Lille’, and sent his academic prize to the philosopher of England’. 

Such a medley of contradictions’, and, at the same time, such 
an individual consistency’, were never united in the same charac- 

a. or pe eatt and an Het ie ‘—a Moham- 


ais member of the series must close with fe rising madera, acon 
ing to th e rule for series ; therefore, in the antithesis, contrary to the general 
rule, the falling inflection is placed first, and the rising, last. ‘The same 
et is true of several other sentences in this lesson. Most of the mem- 


_bers of these series, it will be observed, are compound, containing antitheses. 
‘ See remark at the close of Lesson XVIII. 


y eat : 8 


90 


M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


and a sovereign'—a traitor and a tyrant'—a christian‘ and an in- 

fidel/—he was, through all his vicissitudes, the same stern’, im- 

patient’, inflexible’ original'—the same mysterious’, incomprehen- 

sible’ self'—the man‘ without a model’, and without a shadow’. 
? - 


The foll 


[ PHILuirs. 


LESSON XXI. 


ODE TO AN INFANT SON. 


owing lesson presents an example, in which the matter mesded 


in parenthesis, is disconnected with the main subject, and-is, therefore sub- 


ject to the 


_ (Are these torn clothes his best'?) . eee : 


general principles of inflection. 


Tuou happy; happy elf’! 
(But, stop’, first let me kiss away that tear‘,) 
Thou tiny image of myself’! 
(My love’, he’s poking peas into his ear',) 
Thou merry’, laughing sprite’, 
With spirits feather light’, 
Untouched by sorrow , and unsoiled by sin’,— 
(My dear’, the child is swallowing a pin") 


Thou little tricksy Puck’! 

With antic toys so funnily bestruck , 
Light as the singing bird that wings the air ,— 

(The door’! the door’! he’ll tumble down the stair'!). 
Thou darling of thy sire’! 

(Why', Jane’, he’ll set his pin-afore afire !) 
Thou imp of mirth and joy’! 

In love’s dear chain so bright a link’, ‘. 
‘Thou idol of thy parents’,—(Hang" the boy! 

There goes my ink’.) 


Thou cherub, but of earth’; ~ 
Fit play-fellow for fairies, by moonlight pale’, 
In harmless sport and mirth’,— 
(* That dog will bite’ him, if he pulls his tail’!) 
‘Thou human humming-bee’, extracting honey 
From every blossom in the world that blows’, 
Singing in youth’s I:lysium ever sunny’,— 
(Another tumble’! That’s his precious nose‘!) 
Thy father’s pride and hope’! ‘3 
(He'll break the mirror with that skipping rope'!) — 
With pure heart newly stampt from nature’s ming 
(Where did he learn that squint'?) 
Thou young domestic dove’! 
(*He’ll have that jug’ off with another shove’,) 
Dear nursling of the hymeneal nest’! 3 


gee 


» ® * Sce Remark at the close of Lesson VI. a 3 


~ 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 


' Little epitome of man’! 
Pp 
(He’ll climb upon the table’, that’s’ his plan,) 


Touched with the hepisteous tints of dawning life’,— 


(He’s got a knife'!) 


Thou enviable being’! 

No storms, no clouds, i in thy blue-sky foreseeing’, 
Play on’, play on’, 
My elfin John’! 

Toss‘ the light ball, Hestias" the stick,— 

(1 knew‘ so many cakes would make him sick a 
With fancies buoyant as the thistle-down , 

Prompting the face grotesque’, and antic brisk’, 
With many a lamb-like frisk"! 

(He’s got the scissors’, snipping at your gown'!) 
Thou pretty opening rose’! 

(Go to your mother’, child’, and wipe your nose’!) x 
Balmy and breathing music like the south’, 

(He really brings my heart into my mouth'!) 
Bold as the hawk’ , yet centle_as the dove’,— — 

(I'll tell you what’, my love’, ; : 
I cannot write’, unless he’s sent above’.)—Hoop. 


: LESSON XXII. 
HAMLET’S SOLILOQUY. 


To be’, or not‘ tobe? ‘That is the question’. 
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind, to suffer’ 

The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune’, 

Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, 

And, by opposing’, end’ them? ‘To die’; to sleep’; 
N6 more: and, by a sleep’,.to say we end 

The heart-ache’, and the thousand natural shocks 
That flesh is heir’ to; ’tis a consummation 
Devoutly to be wished‘. ‘To die’; to sleep’; 

To sleep’! perchance to dré am—A ye’, there’s the rub’; 
For in that sleep of death what dréams may come’, 
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil’. 
Must give us pause'.There’s’ the respect P 
That makes calamity of so long life’; 

For who would bear the whips “and scorns of time’ ; 
The oppressor’s wrong", the proud man’s contumel y ; 
The pangs of despised love’, the law’s delay’, 

The insolence of office‘, and ‘the spurns 

That patient merit, of the unworthy takes’; 

When he himself might his quietus make 

With a bare bodkin‘? yy Who would fardels bear, 
To eroan and sweat under a weary life’, 

But that the dread of something after’ death, 

That undiscovered country’, from whose bourn’ 


92 MGUFFEY’S RETORICAL GUIDE 


No traveler returns’, puzzles the will’; 

And makes us rather bear the ills we have’, 
Than fly to others that we know not of"? 

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all’; 
And thus the native hue of resolution’ 

Is sicklied o’er with the pale‘ cast of thoughts 
And enterprises of great pith and moment’, 
With this regard, their currents turn awry’, 
And lose the name of action‘. —SHAKsPEARE. 


EXERCISES ON EMPHASIS. 


Some lessons will now be given, exemplifying, in addition to 
ihe inflections, the principles of emphasis, as follows, viz. 


1. Absolute emphasis, or where a word is emphasized on account of 
its own independent importance. 

2. Relative emphasis, or where ideas are contrasted with each oth- 
er; which contrast may be expressed or implied. 

3. The emphatic phrase, or where several words are emphasized in 
succession. 

4, Emphasis and accent, or where emphasis changes accent. 

5. Emphasis and inflection, or where the inflection is changed by 
emphasis. 

6. Emphatic pause, or the pause before or after an emphatic word 
or phrase. 


Nott. The emphatic words are denoted, as usual, by italics, or capitals; 
and the emphatic pause, by a dash, thus, (—),. 


LESSON XXTII. 
SPEECH BEFORE THE VIRGINIA CONVENTION. 


i Mr. Presment.—It is natural for man’ to indulge in the illu- 
sions of hope’. We are apt to shut our eyes against a painful 
truth’, and listen to the song of that siren’ till she transforms us 
into beasts’. Is this'—the part of wise men’, engaged in a great 
and arduous struggle for liberty’? Are we disposed to be of the 
number of those’, “who, having eyes\,—see’ not, and having ears’, 
—/hear' not the things which so nearly concern their temporal 
salvation’? For my‘—part’, whatever anguish of spirit it may 
cosé', lam willing to know the whole truth‘; to know’ the worst, 
and to provide’ for it. 

TI have but one’ lamp, by which my feet are guided; and that’ 
—is'—the lamp of experience’. I know of no way of judging 
of the future’, but by the past; and, judging by the past’, | 


.OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 93 


wish to know what there has been in the conduct of the British 
ministry for the last ten years’, to justify those hopes with which 
gentlemen have been pleased to solace themselves and the house’? 
Is it that tnsidious smile’ with which our petition has been late- 
ly received’? Trust it not‘, sir: it will prove a snare‘ to your 
feet’. Suffer not yourself to be betrayed with a kiss‘. Ask* 
yourselves, how this gracious reception of our petition’, comports 
with those warlike preparations which cover our waters and 
darken our land’. Are fleets'—and armies'—necessary to a 
work of dove' and reconciliation’? Wave we shown ourselves 
so unwilling” to be reconciled, that force’—must be called in to 
win back our love’? Let us not deceive’ ourselves, sir. These 
are the implements of war\ and subjugation’; the last oe 
ments to which kings resort. 

I ask, gentlemen’, what means this martial array’, if its pur- 
pose be nof’ to force us into submission’? Can gentlemen assign 
any other—possible—motive’ for it? Has Great Britain any 
enemy'—in this quarter of the world’, to call for all this accu- 
mulation of navies and armies’ No‘,sir’, she has none’. They 
are meant for ws’: they can‘ be meant’ for no other’. They are 
sent over to bind and rivet upon us those chains’, which the Brit- 
ish ministry have been so long forging’. And what have we to 
oppose to them? Shall we try argument’? Sir’, we have been 
trying that', for the last—ten—years'. Have we any thing 
new’ to offer upon the subject’? Nothing’. We have held the 
subject up in every light in which it was capable‘; but it has 
_been all in vain’. 

Shall we resort to entreaty' and humble supplication’? What 
terms’ shall we find’, which have not been already exhausted‘? 
Let us not, I beseech you, deceive ourselves longer’. Sir’, we 
have done every thing’ that could be done‘, to avert the storm 
which is now coming on’. We have petitioned’; we have remon- 
strated’; we have supPLicATED'; we have PROSTRA'TED* our 
selves at the foot of the throne’, and implored its interposition’ to 
arrest the tyrannical hands of the ministry and parliament’. Our 
petitions’ have been slighted’; our remonstrances' have produced 
additional violence and insult‘; our suppilications’ have been 
disregarded’; and we have been spurned‘, with contempt’, from 
the foot of the throne’. 

,Tn vain, after these things’, may we HaALe the fond hope of 
peave and reconciliation’. TZhere is no longer any room’ for 
hope. If we wish to be free’; if we mean to preserve inviolate. 
those inestimable privileges for which we have been so long con- 
tending’; if we mean not basely to abandon’ the noble struggle in 
which we have been so long engaged, and which we have pledg- 
ed ourselves never’ to abandon, until the glorious object of our 


94 NM’GUEFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


contest shall be obtained’; we must fight’! I repeat it sir’, WE 

mMusT FIGHT’ !! An appeal to arms‘ and the God of Hosts’, is all 

that is left’ us. 

(s They tell us, six’, that we are weak’; unable‘ to cope’ with so 
formidable an adversary. But when’ shall we be stronger’? 
Will it be the next week’, or the next year’? Will it be’, when 
we are totally disarmed’, and when a British guard shall be sta- 
tioned in every house’? Shall we gather strength by: irresolu- 
tion and inaction’? Shall we acquire the means of effectual re- 
sistance’ by lying supinely on our backs’, and hugging the delusive 
phantom of hope’, until our enemies shall have bound us hand and 
foot’? Sir’, we are not’ weak, if we make a proper use of those 
means’, which the God of nature hath placed in our power’. 
¥ Three millions of people’, armed in the holy cause of liberty’, 
and in swch‘a country as that which we! possess, are invincible 
by any force’ which our enemy can send against’ us. Besides’, 
we shall not fight our battles—a/one’. There is a just God’ who 
presides over the destinies of. nations’; and who will raise up 

“friends to fight our battles for‘ us. ‘The battle’, sir, is not to the 
strong’ alone; it is to the vigilant‘—the active'—the brave’. 
Besides, we have no election’. Ifwe were base enough to desire’ 
it, it is now too late to retire from the contest’.. ‘There is no re- 
treat’ but in submission and slavery‘! Our chains’ are forged’. 
‘Their clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston‘! The war 
is inevitable’; and’—let it come! I repeat it, LETIT COME! 

It is in vain to extenuate the matter’. Gentlemen may cry 
peace’, peace’; but there is no‘ peace. ‘The war is actually be- 
gun’. ‘The next gale that sweeps from the north’, will bring to 
our ears the clash of resounding arms‘! Our brethren’ are already 
in the field! Why stand we'—here idle? What is it that 
gentlemen wish’? What would they have'? Is life so dear’, or 
peace so sweet’, as to be purchased at the price of chains’ and 
slavery’? Forbid it Almighty God! I know not what course 
others‘ may take; but as for me's give tite liberty’, or GIVE 
ME DEATH.—P. Henry. 


Remarxk. In the above extract, may be found an illustration of most of the 
orinciples of emphasis. 

The most important emphatic words and pauses only are marked. On this 
pint there is always room for difference of opinion. Scarcely any two per- 
eons would pronounce a sentence with precisely the same emphasis. Observe, 
in the above lesson the all-contrelling power of emphasis in determining to the 
falling inflection. The words ‘‘eyes,’’ ‘‘ears,’’ and ‘‘my,’’ in the first para- 
graph, the word ‘‘that’’ in the second, and ‘‘spurned”’ and ‘‘ contempt’? in 
the fourth paragraph, are examples of this. 


- OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 95 


LESSON XXIV. 
THE GOUTY MERCHANT AND THE STRANGER 


In Broadstreet building’,(on a winter night’,) 
Snug by his parlor-fire’, a gouty wight 
Sat all alone’, with one hand rubbing 
His feet’, rolled up in fleecy hose’, 
With ?other he’d beneath his nose 
The Public Ledger , in whose columns grubbing’ : 
‘He noted all-thessales of hops’, 
‘Ships' , Shops’, and wolsanet ; 
Gum’, galls’, and groceries’; ginger’, gin’, 
Tar‘, tallow‘, turmeric’, turpentine’, and tin’; 
When lo’! a decent personage in black’, 
Entered and most politely said’— 
“ Your footman’, sir’, has gone his nightly track’ 
To the King’s head’, 
And. left your door ajar‘, which Ae 
Observed in passing by‘ 
And thought it neighborly’ to give you notice .” 
“Ten thousand thanks‘; how very few’ do get, 
In time of danger’, | 
Such kind attentions from a stranger’! 
Assuredly, that fellow’s throat’ is 
Doomed to a final drop at Newgate’: 
He knows’, too, (the unconscionable elf’,) 
That there’s no sow! at home’ except myse/f*.” 
*¢ Indeed’,” replied the stranger’ (looking grave’,) 
‘Then he’s a double‘ knave; . 
He knows that rogues’ and thieves’ by scores 
Nightly beset unguarded doors’: 
And see, how east/y‘ might one 
Of these domestic foes’, 
Even beneath your very nose‘, 
Perform his knavish tricks’; 
Inter your room, as J‘ have done, 
Blow out!’ your candles\—thus‘\—and thus\—, 
Pocket’ your silver candlesticks , 
And’—walk off thus’ — 
So said’—so done‘—he made no more remark’, 
Nor waited for replies', 
But marched off with his prize’, 
Leaving the gouty merchant in the dark.'\—Anonymous. 


44 


ao 


96 MGUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


LESSON XXV. 
SPEECH IN REPROOF OF MR. PITT. 


{ was unwilling to interrupt the course of this debate’, while 
it was carried on with calmness and decency’, by men who do 
not suffer the ardor of opposition to cloud their reason’, or trans- 
port them to such expressions as the dignity of this assembly 
oes not admit. 

I have hitherto deferred answering the gentleman, who de- 
claimed against the bill with such fluency and rhetoric’, and such 
vehemence of gesture‘; who charged the advocates for the expe- 
dients now proposed’, with having no regard to any interests but 
their own‘, and with making laws’ only to consume paper’, and 
threatened them with the defection of their adherents’, and the 
loss of their influence’, upon this new discovery of their folly 
and ignorance’. Nor, do I now answer him for any other pur- 
pose’, than to remind him how little the clamor of rage‘ and pet- 
ulency of invective’, contribute to the end for which this assem- 
bly is called together‘; how little the discovery of truth is pro- 
moted’, and the security‘ of the nation established,’ by pompous 
diction’ and theatrical emotion’. ’ 

Formidable sounds and furious declamation’, confident as- 
sertions. and lofty periods’, may affect the young’ and inexpe- 
rienced’; and perhaps the gentleman may have contracted his 
habits of oratory’, by conversing more with those of his dwn 
age’, than with such as have more opportunities of acquiring 
knowledge’, and more successful methods of communicating 
their sentiments’. If the heat of temper would permit him to 
attend to those’, whose age and long acquaintance with business 
give them an indisputable right to deference and superiority’, he 
would learn in time to reason’,rather than declaim’; and to pre- 
fer justness of argument! and an accurate knowledge of facts’, 
to sounding epithets’ and splendid superlatives’, which may 
disturb the imagination’ for a moment, but leave no lasting im- 
pression upon the mind’, _He would learn’, that to accuse. and 
prove’ are very different’; and that reproaches‘, unsupported by 
evidence’, affect only the character of him’ that utters them. 

Excursions of fancy and flights of oratory’, are indeed pardona- 
ble in young’men, but in no other’; and it would surely contrib- 
ute more’, even to the purpose for which some gentlemen appear 
io speak’,(that of depreciating the conduct of the administration‘), 
to prove’ the inconveniences and injustice of this bill’, than bare- 
ly to assert’ them, with whatever magnificence of language’, or 
appearance of zeal’, honesty’, or compassion’.—Sir R. WaLpPoue. | 


™. 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES 07 


LESSON XXVI. 
REPLY TO SIR ROBERT WALPOLE. 


(Observe in this, examples of antithesis and relative emphasis.) 


THE atrocious crime of being a yoting man, which the honor- 
able gentleman has’, with such spirit’ and decency',charged’ upor 
me, I shall neither attempt to padliate' nor deny‘; but content my 
self with hoping, that I may be one of those’ whose follies cease 
with their youth,’ and not of that-number, who are ignorant’ in 
spite of experience’. Whether youth’ can be imputed to a man 
as a reproach’ { will not assume the province of determining’; but 
surely age may become justly contemptible’, if the opportunities 
which it brings have passed away without improvement’, and 
vice’ appears to prevail’, when the passions’ have subsided’. 
The wretch’, who, after having seen the consequences of a thou- 
sand errors, continues still to blunder’, and whose age has only 
added obstinacy‘ to stupidity’, is surely the object either of abhor- 
ence’ or contempt’, and deserves not that his gray hairs’ should 
secure him from insult’. Much more is he‘ to be abhorred’, who, 
as he has advanced'—in age’, has receded‘\—-from virtue’, and 
become more wicked’'—with less temptation‘; who prostitutes 
himself for money’ which he cannot. enjoy’, and spends the re- 
mains of his life’, in the ruin of his country’. 

But youth’ is not my only crime; I am accused of acting a 
theatrical’ part. A theatrical part' may either imply some pe- 
euliarity of gesture’, or a dissimulation’ of my real sentiments’, 
and an adoption’ of the opinions and language of another’ man. 
In the first’ sense, the charge is too trifling’ to be confagted’; and 
deserves only to be mentioned’, that it may be despised. Ji am 
at liberty, like every ofher\ man, to use my own‘ language ; and 
though, perhaps, | may have some ambition to please this gentle- 
man’, I shall not lay myself under any restraint’, nor very solici- 
tously copy is diction’ or his, mien‘, however matured by age’, 
or modeled by experience’. ; 

- But, if any man shall’, by charging me with theatrical behavior’, 
imply’, that I utter any sentiments’ but my own’, 1 shall treat him 
as a culumniator' and a villain’; ner shall any protection shelter 
- him from the treatment'he deserves’. I shail,on such an occasion’, 
without seruple, trample upon all those forms with which wealth 
and dignity intrench’ themselves, nor shall any thing but age! 
restrain my resentment’; dge,—which always brings one‘ priv- 
ilege, that of being insolent’ and supercilious’, without punish- 
ments : 

But, with regard to those whom I have offended, I am of opin- 
ion, that if I had’ acted a borrowed part’, I should have avoided 

9 


98 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE _ 


their censure: the heat that offended’ them, was the ardor of 
conviction’, and that zeal‘ for the service of my country’ which 
neither hope’ nor fear shall influence me to suppress‘. I will not 
sit unconcerned’ while my liberty is invaded’, nor look in silence’ 
upon public robbery’. 1 will exert my endeavors, at whatever 
hazard’, to repel’ the aggressor, and drag the thief to justice’, 


whoever’ may protect’ him in his villanies, and whoever’ may 


partake’ of his plunder‘.—Pirr. 


LESSON XXVII. 
CHARACTER OF MR. PITT 


TE secretary’ stood alone’. Modern degeneracy had not 
reached’ him. Original’ and unaccommodating’, the features of 
his character had the hardihood of antiquity’. His august mind’ 
overawed majesty itself, No state chicanery‘, no narrow sys- 
tem of vicious politics’, no idle contest for ministerial victories’, 
sunk him to the vulgar level of the great’; but overbearing", per- 
suasive’, and impracticable’, his object was England’, his ambi- 

tion was fame... Without dividing’, he destroyed’ party; with- 
out corrupting’, he made a venal age unanimous’. France sunk 
beneath‘ him. With one‘ hand he smote the house of Bourbon’, 
and wielded in the other’ the democracy of England’. The sight 
of his mind was infinite‘; and his schemes were to affect, not 
England’, not the present’ age only, but Hurope' and posterity. 
Wonderful were the means’ by which these schemes were ac- 
complished’; always seasonable’, always adequate’, the sugges- 


tions of an understanding animated by ardor’, and enlightened 


by prophecy’. : 

The ordinary feelings’ which make life amiable and indolent’ 
were unknown to him. No domestic difficulties’, no domestic 

- weakness‘ reached him; but aloof from the sordid occurrences 


of life’, and unsullied by its intercourse’, he came occasionally — 


into our system’, to counsel and decide’. A character so exalt- 
ed, so strenuous’, so various’, so authoritative’, astonished‘ a cor- 
rupt age, and the treasury trembled at the name of Pitt’, through 
all classes of venality’. Corruption. imagined’, indeed, that she 
had found defects‘ in this statesman, and talked much of the in- 
eonsistency of his glory‘, and much of the ruin of his victories’; 


but the history of his country’, and the calamities of the enemy’, — 


answered’ and refuted’ her. 

Nor were his political’ his only‘ talents. His eloquence’ was 
an era‘ in the senate; peculiar, and spontaneous’; familiarly ex- 
pressing gigantic sentiments and instructive wisdom’; not like the 
torrent of Demosthenes’, or the splendid conflagration of Tully’; 


>. 


ees 8 


“OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 99 


it resembied sometimes the thunder’, and sometimes the music 
of the spheres. He did not conduct the understanding through 
the painful subtilty of argumentation’, nor was he ever on the 
rack of exertion’; but rather lightened’ upon the subject, and 
reached the point by the flashings of the mind’, which, like 
those of the eye‘, were felt’, but could not be followed. 

Upon the whole’, there was in this man something that could 
create’, subvert’, or reform‘; an understanding‘, a spirit’, and. an 
eloquence’, to summon mankind to society’, or to break the 
bonds of slavery asunder, and to rule the wildness of free minds 
with unbounded authority’; something that could establish’, or 
overwhelm‘ empires, and strike a blow’ in the world that should. 
resound through the universe.‘—-RoBER SON. 


LESSON XXVIII. 
VANITY OF LIFE. 


Man’, born of woman’, 
Is of few days’, 
And full of trouble‘. 
He cometh forth as a flower’, and is cut down’; 
He fieeth also as a shadow’, 
And continueth not’. 
y- Upon sych' dost thou open thine eye, 
And bring me unto judgment with thee’? 
Among the impure is there one pure’? 
Wot one’. 
9 Are his days so determined’? 
Hast thou numbered his months’, 
And set fast his bounds’ for him, 
Which he can never pass’? 
Turn’then from him that he may rest’, 
And enjoy’, as an hireling’, his day’. 
% The tree’ hath hope’, if it be cut down’; 
It becometh green‘ again, 
And new shoots‘ are put. forth. 
Jf even the root is o/d‘ in the earth, 
And its stock die‘ in the ground, 
From vapor of water’ it will bud’, 
And bring forth boughs’ as a young plant’. 
But mun’ dieth, and his power is gone’: 
He is taken away’, and where is he'? -. 
@ Till the waters waste from the sea’, 
; ‘Till the river faileth and is dry land’, 
"2 Man lieth low’, and riseth not again’. 
ill the heavens are old’, he shall not awake’, 
Nor be aroused from his sleep’. ° 
as, @ Oh! that thou wouldst conceal’ me 
In the realm of departed souls’! 


M’GUFFEY'S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


Hide me in secret’, till thy wrath be past’; 
Appoint me then a new term’, 

And remember me again’ : 

But alas‘! if a man die’, 

Shall he ive’ again ? 
% So long, then, as my toil ‘endureth’, 

will I wait’, till a change‘come to me. 

Thou wilt call’ me, and | shall answer’; 
Thou wilt pity the work of thy hands’. 
Though now‘ thou numberest my steps’ ‘ 
Thou shalt then’ not watch for my sin’, 

My. transgression will be sealed in a bag", 
Thou wilt bind up’ and remove my iniquity’ ay 2 
@ Yet alas‘! the mountain falleth’ and is swallowed Up , 
The rock is removed out of its place’ . 

The waters hollow out the stones’, 

‘he floods overflow the dust of the earth’, 
And thus’, thou destroyest the hope of man’, 


s @ Thou contendest’ with him, till he faileth’, 


Thou changest his countenance’, and sendest him away’ 


Though his sons become great’ and happy’, 

Vet je’ knoweth it not; 

If they come to shame’ and dishonor’, 

He’ perceiveth it not‘.—Herper’s Hesrew Porrry. 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES, 101 


EXERCISES IN POETRY. 


Some lessons will now be given for the purpose of illustrating the 
principles applicable to the reading of poetry. It will be recollected 
that these have already been stated as follows, viz. 


1, The rising inflection and monotene are used more frequently in 
poetry than in prose. 

2. Avoid changing the accent or emphasis for the sake of accommo- 
dating the metre. 

3. At the end of each line, there should generally be a slight pause, 
especially in rhyme. H 

4. In most kinds of poetry, there should be, somewhere near the 
middle of each line, a slight pause, which is called a cesura, and . 
sometimes theré should be one or two additional pauses still 
slighter than the cesura.’ ‘These latter are called demié-cesuras. 
The ceswra is marked thus, ( |] ), and the demi-cesura thus, ( | ). 

5. A simile in poetry should be read in a lower tone than the rest. 
of the passage. 


LESSON XXIX. 


POETIC STYLE. 


In this lesson, the cesural pauses are all marked. Let it be remembered 
that these should never be permitted to interfere, in any considerable degree, 
with the proper expression of the sense, however much the melody may be 
thereby increased. A word should never be divided by the cesura. It is ~ 
desirable also to avoid separating a noun from its preceding adjective or arti- 
cle, and a verb from its adverb. ‘These pauses must be very slight, espe- 
cially the demi-cesura, which indeed should be scarcely perceptible. For 
more particular directions upon this subject, see Kaimes’ Elements of Criti- 
cism. 

Bur most'| by numbers || judge | a poet’s song, 
And smooth | or rough, || with them | is right or wrong; 
In the bright | muse, || though thousand_| charms conspire, 
Her voice | is all || these tuneful | fools admire, 
Who haunt | Parnassus || but to please | the ear, ‘ 
Not mend | their minds; |] as some | to church repair, 
Not for the | doctrine, || but the | music there. 
“ These, | equal syllables || alone | require, 
hough oft | the ear || the open | vowels tire; 
While | expletives || their feeble aid | do join, 
And ten | low words || oft creep | in one dull line: 
While they | ring round || the same | unvaried chimes, 
With sure | returns || of still | expected rhymes ; 
Where’er | you find || ‘‘ the cooling | western breeze,” 
In the | next line |] it ‘‘ whispers | through the trees :” 
If crystal | streams |] “‘ with pleasing | murmurs creep,” 
The reader ’s | threatened || (not in vain) | with “sleep :” 
Then | at the last || and only | couplet fraught 
With some | unmeaning || thing they call | a thought, : 


102 


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M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


A needless | Alexandrine || ends | the song, 
That, | like a wounded snake, || drags | its slow length along. 


‘Leave such | to tune || their own dull rhymes,] and know. 
* What ’s roundly | smooth || or languishingly | slow; 


And praise | the easy |] vigor |. of a line, 
Where Denham’s strength, || and Waller’s | sweetness join 


True ease | in writing || comes from art, | not chance, 
‘ As those | move easiest, || who have learned | to dance. 


°Tis not | enough || no harshness | gives offense, 

The sound | must seem |] an echo | to the sense: 

Soft | is the strain |] when Zephyr | gently blows, 

And | the smooth stream || in smoother | numbers flows ; 
But when | loud surges |} lash | the sounding shore, 

The hoarse | rough verse || should | like the torrent roar. 
When Ajax | strives || some rock’s | vast weight to throw, 
The line | too labors, |] and the words | move slow. 


Not so | when swift |} Camilla | scours the plain, 


Flies | o’er th’ unbending corn, || and skims | along the main. — 


Pops. 


' Remarks. In the third line, the melody would require that the cesural 

* pause should be after ‘‘though,’’ but the sense is more fully expressed by 

_ placing it after ‘‘muse.’’ In the eighth line, the cesura would come after the 
first syllable in the word ‘‘ syllables;’’ but it is desirable to avoid dividing a 
word, and therefore it is removed to the end of the word. For the same 
reason, in the twentieth line, to avoid dividing the word ‘‘Alexandrine,’’ the 
cesura is removed three syllables beyond its natural place. 


LESSON XXX. 
BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE. 


In the two succeeding lessons, the cesuras are all marked, but the demi 


cesuras are but partially noted. 


* 


sift 


Nor a drum | was heard’, || not a funeral note’, oe 


As his corse |] to the rampart we hurried’; 


Not a soldier | discharged || his farewell | shot’ 


O’er the grave |] where our hero was buried’. 


We buried him | darkly’, |] at dead | of night’, 


The sods’ || with our bayonets | turning"; 


By the struggling moonbeam’s* || misty light’, 


Anél the lantern || dimly burning. 


No useless | coffin‘ || enclosed | his breast’, 


Not in sheet’ | nor in shrowd' || we wound him; 


But he lay like a warrior || taking his rest’, 


With his martial cloke‘ || around him. 


Few and short’ || were the prayers’ we said, st 


And we spoke || not a word of sorrow’; 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES, 103 
But we steadfastly gazed |] on the face of the dead’, 
And we bitterly thought || of the morrow’. 


We thought’, || as we hollowed his narrow bed’, 
And smoothed down || his lonely pillow’, 

That the foe | and the stranger‘ || would tread | o’er his head, 
And we’ | far away || on the billow’. ‘ 


Lightly | they ‘ll talk || of the spirit tee ’s gone’, 
And o’er his cold ashes |] upbraid‘ him, 

But little he dl’ reck, || if they ’1] let him sleep on 
In the grave’ || where a Briton‘ has laid him. 


But half | of our heavy task |] was done’, 

When the clock || struck the hour for retiring’; 
And we heard || the distant random gun’ 

That the foe || was sullenly firing’. 


Slowly’ and sadly’ || we laid him down‘, 
From the field of his fame |] fresh and gory’; 

We carved not a dine’, || and we raised not a stoneé— 
But left him || alone with his glory.\—Wotrr. * 


LESSON XXXI. 
THE MARINER'S DREAM. 


\ In slumbers | of midnight || the Sailor-boy lay’, 
His hammock | swung loose’ || at the sport of the wind ; 
But watch-worn | and weary, || his cares flew away’, 
And visions | of happiness |} danced | o’er his mind‘, 


»He dreamed of his home’, || of his dear native bowers’, 
And pleasures’ that waited || on life’s merry morn‘; 
While Memory each scene || gayly covered with flowe's’, 
_ And restored every rose’, || but secreted the thorn’. 


“Then Fancy her magical pinions |] spread wide’, 
___ And bade the young dreamer’ || in ecstasy rise’; 
Now, far, far behind him |] the green waters glide’, ® 
_And the cot of his forefathers || blesses his eyes’. 


4 The jessamin clambers |] in flower o’er the thatch’,. 
' And the swallow sings sweet || from her nest in the wall’; 
All trembling with transport || he raises the latch’, 
And the voices of loved ones |] reply to his call", 


) A father bends o’er him’ |] with looks of delight’; 
_ His cheek is impearled’ || with a mother’s warm tear; 
And the lips of the boy || in a love-kiss unite’ 
With the lips of the maid || whom his bosom holds dear’, 


104 


} 


Gi», 


M’GUFFEY'S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


©The heart of the sleeper’ || beats high in his-breast', 
Joy quickens his pulse’, || all his ‘hardships seem 0’er'; 
And a murmur of happiness’ || steals through his rest! — 
‘©Q God’! thou hast blest me, |} I ask for no more.” 


~ Ah! whence is that flame |] which now bursts on his eye"? 


Ah! what is that sound || that now larums his ear‘? 
*Tis the lightning’s red glare || painting hell on the sky"! 
Tis the crashing of thunders’, || the groan of the sphere ! 


‘! He springs‘ from his hammock, '| he fies‘ to the deck’; 


Amazement confronts him’ J! with images dire‘;— 
Wild winds’ and mad waves’ || drive the vessel a wreck’ ’ 
The masts fly in splinters’, || the shrouds are on fire’! 


‘Like mountains’ the billows || tumultuously swell’, 


Tn vain the lost wretch’ || calls on mercy to save‘; 
Unseen hands of spirits || are ringing his knell’, 
And the death-angel flaps || his broad wings o’er the wave’. 


» Oh, Sailor-boy’! |] woetothy dream of delight"! 


In darkness || dissolves the gay frost-work of bliss‘;— 
Where now is the picture || that Fancy touched bright; 
Thy parents’ fond pressure, || and love’s honeyed kiss"? 


Oh, Sailor-boy’! ! Sailor-boy’t ! || never again 
Shall home’, love’, or kindred’, || thy wishes repay’; rag 
Unblessed and unhonored’ , || down deep in the main’ 
Full many a score fathom,|| thy frame shall decay’. 


No tomb shall e’er plead || to remembrance for thee’, 
Or redeem form or fame || from the merciless surge’; 

But the white foam of waves‘ || shall thy winding-sheet be’, 
And winds, in the midnight || of winter, thy dirge’. 


On beds of green sea-flower’ |] thy limbs shall be laid’, 


Around thy white bones’ || the red coral shall grow’; : 
Of thy fair, yellow locks,|| threads of amber be made’, 
And every part suit || to thy mansion below‘. 


Days‘, months’, years‘, and ages’,|| shall circle away’, 
And still the vast waters || above thee shall roll’; 
Harth loses thy pattern || for ever and aye'— « 
Oh, Sailor-boy'! Sailor-boy’! || peace to thy soul’. —Dantoxo. : 


he 


* OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 105 


LESSON XXXII. 
MARY, THE MAID OF THE INN. 


Wuerr is she‘, the poor maniac‘, whose wildly-fixed eyes’ 
Seem a heart overcharged to express‘? 

She weeps not’, yet often and deeply she sighs’; 

She never complains’; but her silence implies’ 
The composure of settled distress’. 


No aid’, no compassion’, the maniac will seek’; 
Cold and hunger’ awake not her ¢are’; 
Through the rags do the winds of the winter blow bleak’ 
On her poor withered bosom’, half bare‘; and her cheek’ 
Has the deadly pale hue of despair’. 


Yet cheerful and happy’, nor distant the day’, 
Poor Mary’, the maniac, has been’: 
The traveler remembers’, who journeyed this way’, 
No damsel so lovely’, no damsel so gay’, 
As Mary’, the Maid of the Inn’. 


Her cheerful address*filled the guests with delight’, 
As she welcomed them in with a smile’; 

Her heart was a stranger to childish affright’, 

And Mary would walk by the Abbey at night’, 
When the wind whistled down the dark aisle’. 


She loved‘; and young Richard had settled the day’, 
And she hoped’ to be happy for life’: 
But Richard was idle’ and worthless’; and they 


_ Who knew’ him would pity poor Mary’,and say’, 


That she was too good’ for his wife’. 


Twas in autumn’, and stormy and dark was the night , 
® And fast were the windows and door’; 
Two guests sat enjoying the fire that burned bright’; - 
And, smoking in silence, with tranquil delight’, 
They listened’ to hear the wind’ roar. 


‘“‘°’Tis pleasant’,” cried one’, “‘ seated by the fire-side’, 
To hear the wind whistle without’.”’ 

‘A fine night for the Abbey‘!” his comrade replied’: 

‘‘ Methinks a man’s courage’ would now well be tried’, 
Who would wander the ruins about’. 


“1 myself’, like a school-boy’, should tremble to hear’ 
The hoarse ivy shake overmy head’; 


And could fancy I saw’, half persuaded by fear’, 


Some ugly, old abbot’s white spirit’ appear, 
_For this wind’ might awaken the dead’.” 


“T’ll wager a dinner,” the other one cried’, 
“That Mary’ would venture there now'.” 


106 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


“Then wager‘, and Jose‘,’” with a sneer he‘replied’; 
‘‘1’ll warrant she’d fancy a ghost by her side’, 
And faint’ if she saw a white cow!” 


‘Will Mary this charge on her courage allow’?” 

His companion exclaimed with a smile’; 
‘‘T shall win‘, for I know’ she will venture there now’, 
And earn a new bonnet’, by bringing a bough’ 

From the alder that grows in the aisle‘.” 


With fearless good humor’ did Mary comply’, 

And her way’ to the Abbey she bent’; 
The night’ it was gloomy‘, the wind it was high’; 
And, as hollowly howling it swept throuch the sky , 

She shivered with cold’ as she went’. 


O’er the path so well known’, still proceeded the maid, ~ 
Where the Abbey rose dim on the sight’; 

Through the gateway’, she entered’; she felt not afraid’; 

Yet the ruins were lonely and wild’, and their shade’ 
Seemed to deepen’ the gloom of the night’. 


All around her was silent’, save when the rude blast 
Howled dismally round the old pile’; 
Over weed-covered fragments’ still fearless she passed’, 
' And arrived at the innermost ruin at last’, 
Where the alder-tree’ grew in the aisle’. 


Well pleased did she reach‘ it, and quickly drew near, 
And hastily gathered the bough’; 
When the sound of a voice’ seemed to rise on her ear 
She paused’, and she listened’, all eager to hear’, 
And her heart panted fearfully now"! 


The wind blew’, the hoarse ivy shook over her head’: 

She listened’; nought else’ could she hear’. 
The wind ceased’, her heart sunk in her bosom with dread , 
For she heard in the ruins’—distinctly‘—the tread’ 

Of footsteps‘ approaching her near. 


Behind a wide column’, half breathless with fear’, 
She crept, to conceal herself there’; 

That instant’, the moon o’er a dark cloud shone clear’. 

And she saw in the moonlight two ruffians‘appear, 
And between them’, a,corpse‘ did they bear. 


Then Mary could feel’ her heart-blood eurdle cold" 
Again the rough wind hurried by’; 

It blew off the hat of the one, and behold’, 

Even close to the feet of poor Mary it rolled‘; 
She fell‘; and expected to die"! 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 107 


** Curse‘ the hat,”’ he exclaims’; ‘‘Nay‘, come on , and fast hide’ 
The dead body?” his comrade replied’, 

She beheld them in safety pass on by her side’, 

She seizes the hat‘, fear her courage supplied’, 
And fast through the Abbey she flies"! 


She ran with wild speed‘, she rushed in’ at the door’, 
She look’d horribly eager around’: 
Her limbs could support their faint burden no more’ 
But exhausted and breathless, she sunk oh the floor’, 
Unable to utter a sound’. . 


Ere net her pale lips could her story impart,’ 
For a moment, the Aat’ met her view :— 

Her eyes from that object convulsively start, 

For’, O Heaven‘! what cold horror thrilled through her heart’, 
When the name of her Richard‘ she knew! 


Where the old Abbey stands’, on the common hard by , 
His gibbet is now to be seen’; 

Not far from the inn’, it engages the eye’; 

The traveler beholds it, and thinks with a sigh’, 
Of poor Mary, fie Maid of the Inn‘.—SovuTHey. 


LESSON. XXXII. 
MIDNIGHT MASS FOR THE DYING YEAR. 


Yes’, the year is growing old’, 
And his eye is pale and bleared'; 
Death’, with frosty hand and cold’, 
Plucks the old man by the beard, 
Sorely', sorely"! 


The leaves are falling’, falline’, 
Solemnly’ and slow’; 
Caw’! caw"! the rooks are calling,’ 
It is a sound of woe’, 
A séund of woe! 


Through woods and mountain-passes’ 
The winds like anthems roll’; 
They are chanting solemn masses’, 
Singing’ Lai tmcnied for this pOdr soul! ! 
Pray! pray! 


The hooded clouds’, like friars’, 
Tell their beads in drops of rain ; 
And patter their doleful prayers ;— 
But their prayers’ are all in vain, 
“All in vain“! 


108 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


‘here he. stands’, in the foul weather’, 
The foolish, fond Old Year‘, 
Crown’d with wild flowers and with heather’, 
Like weak, despised Lear’, 
A king’,—a king"! 


Then comes’ the summer-like day’, 
Bids the old man rejoice’! 
His joy"! his last‘! O', the old man gray’ 
Loveth‘ her ever soft voice’, ‘ 
Gentle’ and low’. 


To the crimson woods he saith’, 
And the voice gentle and low 
Of the soft air,’ like a daughter’s breath’, 
Pray,do not mock me so"! 
Do not laugh at me’! 


And now’, the sweet day is dead’; 
Cold in his arms it lies, 
No stain from its breath is spread’ 
Over the glassy skies’, 
No mist or stain’! 


Then’, too’, the Old Year‘ dieth, 
And the forests’ utter a moan’, 
Like the voice of one who crieth 
In the wilderness alone’, 
Vex not his ghost"! 


Then comes’, with an awful roar’, 
Gathering’ and sounding on’, 
The storm-wind* from Labrador", 
The wind Euroelydon’, 

The storm-wind"! 


Howl"! howl"! and from the forest’ 
Sweep the red leaves away"! 
Would’, the sins that thou abhorrest’, 
O soul’, could thus decay’, ae 
And be swept away’!* 


For there shall come a mightier blast’, 
There shall be a darker day’; 


And the stars from heaven downeast , es 


Like red leaves be swept away’! 
i Kyrie Eléyson! 
Christe E}éyson!{—Lonere.iow. 
wind TERE a ig Me a ao Shhh colle gE cal Oe, 
* See Rule II—1. Remark. 
t These words mean, ‘‘ Lord, have mercy! Christ, have mercy !’’ 


- 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 109 


LESSON XXXIV. 
THE SOLDIER’S REST. 


Soptier’, rest"! || thy warfare o’er’, 
Sleep the sleep’ || that knows not breaking’; 
Dream of battle-fields || no more’, 
Days of danger’, || nights of waking". 
In our isle’s enchanted hall’, 
Hands unseen || thy couch are strewing", 
Fairy strains of music’ || fall, 
Every sense’ || in slumber dewing". 
Soldier’, rest’! |] thy warfare o’er’, 
Sleep the sleep || that knows not breaking’; ; 
Dream of battle-fields || no more’, 
Morn of toil’, |] nor night of waking". 


No rude sound shall reach thine ear’, 
Armor’s clang’, or war steed champing’, 
Trump nor pibroch summon here’, 
Mustering clan’, or squadron‘ tramping. 
Yet the dark’s' shrill fife may come’, 
At the daybreak from the fallow’, 
And the bittern‘ sound his drum’, 
Booming from the sedgy shallow’. 
Ruder’ sounds shall none be near, 
Guards nor warders challenge here‘. 
Here ’s no war-steed’s neigh and champing’, 
Shouting clans’ or squadrons stamping’. 


Huntsman’, rest’! thy chase is done’; : 

While our slumbrous spells assail’ ye, 
Daan not with the rising sun’, 

Bugles here shall sound * reveille’. 
Sleep'! the deer is in his den’; 

Bicep! thy hounds’ are by thee lying"; 
Sleep"! nor dream in yonder glen’, 

How thy gallant steed lay dying". 
Huntsman’! rest! thy chase i is done’; 
Think not of the rising sun’, 

For at dawning to assail’ ye, 
Here no bugle “sounds reveille’.—Scorr, 


* Pronounced re-vel’-ya. 


110— M’GUFFEY’S RETORICAL GUIDE 


LESSON XXXV. 
JEPHTUHAH’S DAUGHTER. 


Sue stood_before her father’s gorgeous tent’, 
To listen for his coming". 
: I have thought’, _ 
A. brother’s'and a sister’s’love was much’, ~ 
T know a brother’s’is, for IT have loved’ - 
A trusting sister‘; and I know how broke 
The heart may be’ with its own tenderness’. 

- But the affection of a delicate child‘ 
For a fond father’, gushing as it does 

ea With the sweet springs of life’, and living on 
Through all earth’s changes’, 
Must be holier"! 
The wind bore on’ 

The leaden tramp of thousands‘. Clarion notes 
Rang sharply on the ear at.intervals’; 
And the low, mingled din of mighty hosts’, 
Returning from the battle , poured from far’, 
Like the deep murmur of a restless sea‘. 


Jephthah led his warriors on’ 
Through Mizpeh’s streets’. His helm’ was proudly set’, 
And his stern lip curled slightly,’ as if praise 
Were for the hero’s scérn. - His step was firm, 
But free’ as India’s leopard’; and his mail’, 
Whose shekels none in Israel might bear’, 
Was lighter than a tassel‘ on his frame. 
His crest’ was Judah’s kingliest‘, and the look 
Of his dark’, lofty eye” 
Might quell a lion‘. He led on’; but thoughts’ 
Seemed gathering round which troubled‘ him. The veins 
Upon his forehead were distinctly seen’; 
And his proud lip’ was painfully compressed’. 
He trod less firmly’; and his restless eye’ 
Glanced forward frequently’, as if some ill 
He dared not meet, were there‘. His home was near; 
And men were thronging’, with that strange delight’ 
‘They have in human passions’, to observe 
The struggle of his feelings with his pride’. 
He gazed intensely forward’. 
A moment more’, 
And he had reached his home’; when lo! there sprang 
One’ with a bounding footstep,’ and a brow 
Like light’, to meet’ him. Oh‘! how beautiful"! 
Her dark eye flashing’ like a sun-lit gem’, 
And her luxuriant hair’/— twas like the sweep 
Of a swift wing in visions’. He stood still’, 
As if the sight had withered’ him. She threw 
Her arms about his neck‘; he heeded not’. 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. Fe 


She called’ him “ Father',” but he answered not’. 
She stood and gazed upon him, Was he wroth/? 
There was no anger’ in “that blood-shot eye’. 


Had sickness’ seized him? She unclasped his helm’, 


And laid her white hand’ gently on his brow’. 


The touch aroused’ him. He raised up his hands’, 


And sp6ke the name of Géd in agony. 
She knew that he was str icken‘then, and rushed 
Again into his arms’, and with a flood 
Of tears she could not stay’, she sobbed a prayer 
That he would tell her of his wretchedness’. 
- He told’ her, and a momentary flush’ 

Shot o’er her countenance’: and then’, the soul 
Of Jephthah’s daughter wakened', and she stood 
Calmly and nobly up’, and said’, “Tis well\— 
And I will die!” 

And whén the sin had sét, 


Thén shé was déad—but nét by viclence.—WILuts, 


LESSON XXXVI. 


THE TREASURES OF THE DEEP. 


Wuar hidest thou in thy treasure-caves and oe 


Thou hollow- sounding and mysterious main’! 


Pale glistening pearls’, and rainbow-colored shells’ ; 


Bright things’, 


Keep’, keep’ thy riches, melancholy eon } 


Yet more, thy depths have more'!\—What wealth untold, 


We ask not such from thee’. 


Far down, and shining through their stillness, les‘? 


Thou hast the starry gems’, the burning gold’, 


Won from ten thousand royal argosies'. 


Sweep o’er thy spoils , thou wild and wrathful main’! 


Yet more, thy depths have more’! 


Barth claims not thése again! 


Above the cities of a world gone by’. 


Sand hath filled up the palaces of old’, 


Sea-weed o’ergrown the halls of revelry". 


Dash o’er them’, ocean , in thy scornful play"! 


Man yields thém to decay. 


Yet more’! thy billows and thy depths } have more’! 


High hearts’ and brave’ are gathered to thy breast’. 


They hear not now’ the booming waters roar’,— 


The battle-thunders will not “break their’ rest. 


Keep thy red gild and géms, thou stormy grave’! 


eh 


Give back the frue and brave’. 


which gleam unrecked’ of and in vain 


tl 


Thy waves have rolled’ 


112 ¥. M'GUFEEY'S RHETORICAL GUIDE : 


Give back the dost‘ and lovely'\—T hose’, for whom 
__ ‘The place was kept at board and hearth so long’, 
The prayer went up through midnight’s breathless gloom , 
And the vain yearning woke ’midst festal song"! 
Hold fast thy buried isles‘, thy towers oerthrown’, 
, But al/ is not thine own!—Mrs. Hemans. 


e 


EXERCISES FOR THE CULTIVATION OF THE VOICE. 


_ Those parts to be read in a low tone are marked(J,) and those requiring a 
high tone are marked (2.) This lesson also illustrates the manner in which 
simile should be read in poetry. 


LESSON XXXVII. 
HECTORS ATTACK ON THE GRECIAN WALLS. 


Tuen godlike Hector and his troops contend’ 
To force the ramparts and the gates to rend’; 
Nor Troy could conquer’, nor the Greeks would yield’, 
Till great Sarpedon tower’d amid the field’: 
In arms he shines, conspicuous from afar’, 
And bears aloft his ample shield in air’; 
And while two pointed javelins arm his hands , 
Majestic moves along, and leads his Lycian bands.* 
(1) So’, pressed with hunger’, from the mountain brow 
Decends a lion‘ on the flocks below ; 
So’, stalks the lordly savage o’er the plain’, 
In sullen majesty and stern disdain’: 
In vain loud mastiffs bay him from afar’, 
And shepherds gall him with an iron war’; 
Regardless,’ furious,’ he pursues his way’; 
-He foams’, he roars’, he rends the panting prey’. 


Unmoved, the embodied Greeks their fury dare’, 
And fixed, support the weight of all the war’; 
Nor could the Greeks repel the Lycian powers’, 
Nor the bold. Lycians force the Grecian towers* 

(7) As, on the confines of adjoining grounds’, 
Two stubborn swains' with blows dispute their hounds, 
They tug’, they sweat‘; but neither gain‘ nor yield’ 
One foot’, one inch’ ofthe contested field’: 
‘Thus, obstinate to death, they fight’, they fall’; 
Nor these can keen’, nor those can win‘ the wall. 
Their manly breasts are pierced with many a wound , 
Loud strokes are heard’, and rattling arms resound’; 
The copious slaughter covers all the shore’, 
And the high ramparts drop with human gore’. 

(/) As when two scales are charged with doubtful loads‘, . 
From side to side’ the trembling balance nods’, 
(While some laborious matron, just and poor, 
With nice exactness weighs her wooly store’,) 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 113 


Till’, poised aloft’, the resting beam suspends 
Each equal weight’; nor (his’, nor that‘ descends. °° 
So stood the war, till Hector’s matchless might 

With fates prevailing’, turned the scale of fight’. 


(h) Fierce as a whirlwind up the walls he flies’, 
And fires his hosts with loud repeated cries‘. 
Advance , ye Trojans’! lend your valiant hands’, 
Haste to the fleet’, and toss the blazing brands’! 
They hear’, they run‘; and gathering at his call’ 
Raise scaling engines’, and ascend the wall’: 
Around the works a wood of glittering spears 
Shoots up’, and all the rising host appears". 


A ponderous stone‘ bold Hector heaved to throw, 
Pointed above’, and rough and gross below’: 
Not two strong men the enormous weight could raise , 
Such men as live in ¢hese‘ degenerate days. 
Yet this’,as easy as a swain could bear 
The snowy fleece’, he tossed,’ and shook in air’: 
Thus armed’, before the folded gates he came’, 
Of massy substance’, and stupendous frame’; 
With iron bars’ and brazen hinges strong’, 
On lofty beams of solid timber hung": 
Then thundering through the planks with forceful sway, 
Drives the sharp rock’; the solid beams give way’; 
The folds are shattered’; from the crackling door’ 
Leap the resounding bars’, the flying hinges roar’. 


Now rushing in’, the furious chief appears, 
Gloomy as night’, and shakes two shining spears’: 
A dreadful gleam from his bright armor came’, 
And from his eyeballs flash’d the living flame’. 
He moves a god’, resistless’ in his course’, 
And seems a match for more than mortal force". 
Then pouring after’, through the gaping space’, 
A tide of Trojans flows’, and fills the place’; 
The Greeks behold‘, they tremble’, and they fly ; 
The shore is heaped with death’, and tumult rends the sky. 
Popr’s Homer. 


LESSON XXXVIII. 


(This lesson is adapted to the cultivation of a low tone.) 
BATTLE IN HEAVEN. 


To whom’, in brief’, thus Abdiel stern replied’: 
Reign thow in hell, thy‘ kingdom; let me serve, 
Tn heaven, God ever blest’, and 7s divine 

_ Behests’ obey‘, worthiest to be obeyed’; 
Yet chains‘ in hell, not realms’, expect’: meanwhile, 
From me’, (returned, as erst thou saidst, from flicht ,) 
This’ greeting on thy impious crest receive’, 


10 


114 


_ Blazed opposite’, while expectation stood ‘es 


M’GUFFEY'S RHETORICAL GUIDE 

So saying’, a noble stroke he lifted-high, 
Which hung not’, but so swift with tempest fell 
On the proud crest of Satan’, that no sight, 
Nor motion of swift thought’, less could his shield’, 
Such ruin intercept’. ‘Ten paces huge ° 
He back recoiled’; the tenth’,on bended knee 
His massy spear upstayed'; as if on earth ~ 
Winds under ground’, or waters forcing way’ 
Sidelong, had pushed a mountain‘ from his seat, 
Half sunk with all his pines. 


Now storming fury rose’, 
And clamor such as heard in heaven till now 
Was never’; arms on armor clashing’, bray’d 
Horrible discord‘, and the maddening wheels’ 
Of brazen chariots raged’; dire was the noise 
Of conflict’; over head the dismal hiss 
Of fiery darts in flaming volleys flew’, 
And flying,’ vaulted either host with fire’. 
So’, under fiery cope together rushed 
Both battles main’, with ruinous assault 
And inextinguishable rage’. All heaven 
Resounded’; and had earth been then’, all earth 
Had to her center shook’, What wonder‘? where 
Millions of fierce encountering angels fought - 
On either side’, the least of whom could wield 
These elements’, and arm him with the force 
Of all their regions’. ; 


Long time in even scale’, 
The battle hung"; till Satan’, who that day 
Prodigious power had shown, and met in arms 

No equal’, ranging through the dire attack 

Of fighting Seraphim confused’, at length, 

Saw where the sword of Michael smote, and felled 
Squadrons at once’; with huge two-handed sway’, 
Brandished aloft’, the horrid edge came down 
Wide wasting’; such destruction to withstand 

He hasted‘, and opposed the rocky orb 

Of tenfold adamant, his ample shield 

Of vast circumference’. At his approach’ 

The great Archangel from his warlike toil 
Surceased‘, and glad, as hoping here to end 
Intestine war in heaven’, th’ arch-foe subdued’. 


‘Now waved their fiery swords‘, and in the air 
Made horrid circles‘; two broad suns their shields | 


" 


In horror’; from each hand with speed retired’, =~ 


Where erst was thickest fight’, the angelic throng, 2 ~~ 


And left large fields’, unsate within the wind’ 
Of such commotion’; such as, to set forth 
Great things by small’, if, nature’s concord broke’, 


whe 


« 


ame 


PY aces sf 


“o 


«3% 


at 


Pf “ ‘i 
OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 115 
a 
Among the constellations war were sprung,’ 
Two planets‘ rushing from aspect® malign 
Of fiercest opposition’ , in mid-sky’ 
Should combat’, and their jarring spheres confound’. ay 


& 


LESSON XXXIX, 
(This should be read in a middle tone.) 
PAUL’S DEFENSE BEFORE KING AGRIPPA, 
‘HEN said Agrippa unto Paul’: “Thou art permitted to speak 
for thyself’.”’? ‘Then Paul stretched forth his hand’ and answer- 
ed for himself. 


I think myself happy’, king Agrippa’, because I shall answer 
for myself, this day, before thee, touching all the things whereof 


I am accused of the Jews’; especially’, because I know thee to - 
be expert in all customs and questions which are among the - 


Jews’: wherefore I beseech thee to hear me patiently‘. My 
manner of life from my youth’, which was at the first among 
mine own nation at Jerusalem,’ know all the Jews’; who knew 
me from the beginning’, if they would testify’, that, after the 
most straitest sect of our religion’, I lived a Die ew : 

And now’, I stand and am judged for the hope of the promise 
made of God unto our fathers‘; unto which promise our twelve 
tribes, instantly serving God day and night, hope to come’. For 
which hope’s sake, king Agrippa,’ | am accused of the Jews’. 
Why should it be thought a thing incredible with you, that God 
ie raise the dead‘? I verily thought with myself’, that I 

ught to do many things ei taty to the name of Jesus of Naza- 
en tt Which things I also did‘ in Jerusalem: and many of the 
saints did I shut up in prison, having received authority from 
the chief-priesis‘, and when they were put to death’, I gave my 
voice against’ them. 

And I punished them oft in every synagogue’, and compell led 
them to blaspheme’; and being exceedingly mad’ against them, 
I persecuted them, even unto strange cities’. Whereupon, as I 
went to Damascus’, with authority and commission from the 
chief-priests’, at mid-day, O king’, I saw in the way a light from 
heaven, above the brightness of the sun, shining round about me 
and them which journeyed with‘ me. And when we were all 


fallen to the earth’, I heard a voice speaking unto me, and say ing’ 


Jn th the Hebrew tongue’, Saul’, Saul’, why persecutest thou me’? 
rz cde oe oe Nd 
* Observe the improper pronunciation of the word ‘‘aspect,’’ required by 


the poetic accent. In this case an equal degree of force may be given to 
each syllable. 


t 


116 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


itis hard for thee to kick against the goads‘. And I said,’ Who 
art’ thou, Lord’? . 

And he said’, 1 am Jesus‘, whom thou persecutest’. But rise 
and stand upon thy feet’: for I have appeared unto thee for this 
purpose’, to make thee a minister and a witness both of these 
things which thou hast seen’, and of those things in the which I 
will appear‘ unto thee; delivering thee from the people and from 
the Gentiles’, unto whom now I send thee, to open their eyes’, 
and to turn them from darkness to light, and from the power of 
Satan unto God'; that they may receive forgiveness of sins’, and 
inheritance among them which are sanctified’, by faith that is 
in me’. 

Whereupon, O king Agrippa’, I was not disobedient unto the 
heavenly vision; but showed first unto them of Damascus’, and 


at Jerusalem’, and throughout all the coasts of Judea’, and then © 


to theGentiles’, that thev should repent and turn to God’, and do 
works meet for repentance’. For these causes the Jews caught 
me in the temple’, and went about to kill‘ me. Having, there- 
fore, obtained help of God’, I continue unto this day, witnessing 
both to small’ and great‘, saying none other things than those 
- which the prophets and Moses did say should come’; that Christ 
should suffer‘, and that he should be the first that should rise 
from the dead’, and should show light unto the people’, and to 
the Gentiles’. 

And as he thus spake for himself’, Festus said with a loud: 
voice, ‘ Paul’, thou art beside’ thyself, much learning hath made 
thee mad.‘” But he said, “Iam not mad’, most noble Festus’, 
but speak forth the words of truth and soberness‘. For the king 
knoweth* of these things’, before whom I speak freely’; for I am 
persuaded that none of these things are hidden from him‘; for 
this thing was not done ina corner’. King Agrippa’, believest 
thou the prophets’? I know’‘that thou believest, ”’ . 

Then Agrippa said unto Paul’; «Almost thou persuadest me 
to be a Christian.’’ And Paul said’, “I would to God that not 
only thou’, but also all that hear me this day’, were both almost’, 
and altogether’ such as Jram, except these bonds'.”? And when 
he had thus spoken’, the king rose up, and the governor and 
Bernice, and they that sat with them’. And when they were 
gone aside’, they talked between themselves, saying’; « 'This 
man doeth nothing worthy of death’ or of bonds'.’”’ ‘Then said 
Agrippa unto Festus’; ‘This man might have been set at liber- 
ty , if he had not appealed’ unto Cesar\.”’-—Bipie. 


w 


* 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 117 


LESSON XL. 
SPEECH OF HENRY V. TO HIS TROOPS. 


(This lesson requires a high key.) 


Once more unto the breach‘, dear friends’, once more ; 
Or close the wall up with our English dead’. 
In peace’, there’s nothing so becomes a man 
As modest stillness and humility’; 
But when the blast of war blows in our ears’, 
Then’, imitate the action of the tiger’; 
Stiffen the sinews‘, summon up the blood’, 
Disguise fair nature with hard-favored rage’: 
Then’, lend the eye a terrible aspect’; 

et it pry through the portage of the head’, 
Like the brass cannon’; let the brow o’erwhelm’ it, 
As fearfully as doth a galled rock 
O’erhang and jutty his confounded base, 
Swilled with the wild and wasteful ocean . 
Now set the teeth‘, and stretch the nostril wide , 
Hold hard the breath‘, and bend\up every spirit’ 
To its full height’! On‘, on‘, you noble English ! 
Whose blood is set from fathers of war-proof; 
Fathers’, that, like so many Alexanders’, 
Have, in these parts, from morn till even, fought , 
And sheath’d their swords for lack of argument’; 
Be copy now to men of grosser blood’, 

And teach them how to war! 7 
And you’, good yeomen., 
Whose limbs were made in England’, show‘ us here 
The mettle of your pasture; let us swear. _ 
That you are worth your breeding’, which T doubt not; 
For there is none of you so mean and base’, 
That hath not noble luster in your eyes’. 
1 see you start like grayhounds in the slips, 
Straining upon the start‘. The game’s afoot’; 
Follow your spirit’: and, upon this charge’, 
Cry’—God for Harry‘! England’! and St. George’! 

SHAKSPEARE. 


LESSON XLI. 


RIENZIS ADDRESS TO THE ROMANS. 


I come not here to fa/k‘. You know too well’ 
The story of our thralldom‘’. We are—slaves‘! 
The bright sun rises to his course’ and lights 

A race of—s/aves‘! He sets’, and his last beams’ 
Fall on a—s/ave'; not such’ as swept along 

By the full tide of power’, the conqueror led 

To crimson glory and‘undying fame’: 


118 


M GUFFEY'S RIZETORICAL GUIDE 
(7) But—base\—ignoble'—slaves; slaves’ to a horde » 
Of petty tyrants ', feudal despots’, lords, 
Rich! in some dozen’ paliry villages’; 
Strong’ in some hundred spearmen’ : only ly great 
In that str ange spell’ ;—a NAME’. 
Each hour, dark fraud’, 
Or open rapine’, or protected murder’, 
Cry out against! them. (2) But this very day’, 
An honest man’, my neighbor,—there he stands’,—- 
Was struck’ —strudh! like a—dog*, by one who wore 
The badge & Ursin‘; because, forsooth’, 
He tossed not high his ready cap in air’, 
Nor lifted up his voice’in servile shouts! ; 
At sight of that great ruffian'! (hh) Be we men’, 
And suffer such’ dishonor ? men’, and wash not 
The stain away in blood’? (2) Such shames are common, 
I have known deeper’ wrongs; J‘, that speak‘ to ye, 
(12) I had a brother‘ once’—a gracious boy" ; 
Full of gentleness’, of calmest hope’, 
Of sweet and quiet joy';—there was the look 
Of heaven upon his face’, which limners give 
To the beloved disciple’. 


> 


Sad 


How I loved’ 
That gracious boy"! Younger by fifteen years’, 
Brother at once’, and son’! He left my side, 
A summer hipein’ on his fair cheek’; a smile’ 
Parting his innocent lips‘. In one short hour’, 
The pretty, harmless boy was slain‘! | saw 
The corse, the mangled corse, and then (A) T cried’ 
For vengeance’! (Ai) Rouse‘ ye, Romans’! rouss’ ye, sLaves, 
Have ye brave sons’? Took in the next fieree brawl 
'To see them die... Have ye fair daughters’? Le jee 
‘To see them live, torn from your arms’, distained’, 
Dishonored‘; and if ye dare call for, justice’, 
Be auswered by the dash’. 
(2) Yet this’—is Rome’, 
That sat on her seven hills‘, and, from her throne | 
Of beauty’, ruled the world’: i Yet we’ are Romans ! 


(4) Why’, in that-elder day, to be a Roman, 


Was greater than a king ! 
And ence again,— 
hh) Hear’ me, ye walls’, that echoed to the tread 
Of either Brutus! Onite again, I swear’, sa 
Lhe eternal city shall be free\.—Muss Mirrorp 


“if _ OFTHE ECLECTIC SERIES. *. 119 


= ie 


MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES WITH RHETT ORICAL 
NOTATION. 


ve 
The renting 6 exercises of Part II. are promiscuously arranged, and are: 
intended to illustrate all the principles which have been explained. S 
LESSON XLII. 
THE FORTUNE TELLER o 


Hartry sat down on a large stone, by the way-side, to. take a 
pebble from his shoe’, when he saw, at some distance’, a beg gar’ 
approaching him. He had on a loose sort of coat mended with 
different colored rags‘, amongst which the blue’ and russet’ were 
predominant’. He had a short, knotty stick in his hand‘; and 


on the top’ of it was stuck a ram’s horn’; he wore no shoes’, and 


his*stockings had entirely lost that partof them which would have 
~ coverd his feet and ancles’; in his face, however,’ was the plump 
appearance of good humor’; he v Iked a good round pace’, and 
a crook-legged dog trotted at his he 

‘Our delicacies” said Har oe himself, «are fantastic’; they 
are notin nature'! That beggar’ ae over the sharpest of these 
stones barefooted’, whilst J’ Re re lost the most delightful dream in 
the world’, from the simallest6P hem happening io get into my 
shoe.’”*—The beggar had by this time come up‘, and pulling off 
a piece of a hat’, asked charity’ of Harley.” ‘The dog began to 
beg too’. It was impossible to resist both; and, in truth, the 


want of shoes and stockings’ had made both unnecessary’, for » 


Harley had destined sixpence for him hefore\.4,'Phe beggar’, on 


receiving it, poured forth blessings without number’; and, with a__ 


sort of smile on his countenance’, said to Harley “ that if he 


wanted to have his fortunes to! ld”?—Harley turned his eye brisk- 


ly upon the beggar’; it was an unpromising look for the subject. 


of a prediction’, and silenced the prophet immediately’. . «I 

would muck rather learn’,’’ said Harley’, “what it is in your 
power’ to tell me. Your trade must be an entertaining’ one; sit 
down on this stone’, and let me know something of your pro- 

fession; 1 have often thought of turning fortune-teller’, for a 
week or two, myseltf*.”’ ; 

t “‘ Master’,”’ replied the beggar’, «T like your frankness much’; 
or I had the humor-of plain ‘dealing in me from a child’; but there 
is no some with it-in this world’; we must do as we can‘; and 
lying’ is, as you call it, my profession’ . But I was in somersort 
forced to the trade’, for I once dealt in telling the fruth’. I was 
a laborer’, sir’, and gained as muchas to make me live’. I Geant 


laid. by’, indeed ; for I was reckoned a piece of a wag‘, and 


your wags’, I take, it, are seldom rich‘, Mr. Harley’.”’ “So, Zc 


mig gua Harley’ ‘you seem to know‘ me.’ ‘Aye’, there are few 


120 . MGUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


folks-in the country’ that I don’t know something’ of: How 
should I tell fortunes‘ else ?”’ ‘True’; but go on with your sto- 
ry’; you were a laborer’, you say, and a wag’; your industry’, I 
suppose, you left with your old’ trade; but your humor’ you pre- 
Berved to be of use to you in your new’,”’ 
£~« What signifies sadness’, sir? a man grows lean‘ on’t. But I 
was brought { to my idleness by degrees‘; sickness’ first disabled’ 
me, and it went against my stomach to work ever after’. But 
in truth I was for a long time so weak’, that I spit blood when- 
ever attempted to work’. I had no relation’ living, and I never 
kept a friend above a week when I was able to joke’. ‘Thus I 
was forced to beg my bread’, and a sorry trade I have. found’ it, 
Mr. Harley’. I told all my misfortunes truly’,.but they were sel- 
dom believed‘; and the few who gave me a half-penny as they . 
passed’, did it with a shake of the head’, and an injunction not to- 
trouble them with along story’. In short’, I found that people 
don’t care to give alms without some security” for their money,— 
such as a wooden leg’, or a withered arm’, for example. So I 
changed my plan, and instead of telling my own’ misfortunes, 
_ began to prophesy happines to others’. 
(p This I found by much ee way’. Folks will always 
listen when the tale is their own’, and of many who say they do 
not believe in fortune-telling’, | have known few on whom it had 
not a very sensible effect’. I pick up the names of their ac- 
quaintance’; amours’ and little squabbles’ are easily gleaned among 
servants and neighbors’; and indeed’, people themselves‘ are the 
best intelligencers in the world for our purpose’. ‘They dare not 
puzzle’ us for their own‘ sakes, for every one is anxious to hear 
- what they wish to believe’; and they who repeat’ it, to laugh at it 
when they have done’, are generally more serious than their 
hearers are apt to imagine’. With a tolerably good memory’, and 
some share of cunning’, I succeed: reasonably well as a fortune- 
teller’, With this,’ and showing the tricks of that dog’, there, l 
make shift to pick up a livelihood’. 
yey My trade is none of the most honest’, yet people are not much 
cheated after all‘, who give a few half pence for a prospect’ of ; 
happiness, which I have heard some persons say, is all aman can 
arrive at, in this‘ world. But I must bid you good day’, sir; for 
I have three miles to walk before noon’, to inform some boarding- 
school young ladies’, whether their husbands are to be peers of 
the realm’, or captains in the army ; a question which I promised 
to answer them by that time’.”’ 
0 Harley had drawn a shilling from his pocket’; but Virtue bade 
him consider on whom he was going to bestow’ it. Virtue held 
back his arm‘; but a milder form’, a younger sister’ of Virtue’s, 
not so severe as Virtue’, nor so serious as Pity’, smiled’ upon him; 
# 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 12] 


his fingers lost their compression’; nor did Virtue’ appear to catch 
the money as it fell’. It had no sooner reached the ground’, than 
the watchful cur’ (a trick he had been taught’) snapped it up‘; and, 
contrary to the most approved method of stewardship’, delivered 
it immediately into the hands of his master’.—MackEnzir. 


LESSON XLII. 
HAPPINESS OF TEMPER. 


Writers of every age’ have endeavored to show that pleasure 1s 
in ws‘, and not in the objects’ offered for our amusement’. If the 
soul’be happily disposed, every thing becomes capable of afford- 
ing entertainment’, and distress will almost wanta name. Every 
occurrence passes in review’, like the figures of a procession’; 
some’ may be awkward’, others’ ill-dressed'; but none but a fool’ 
is, on that account’, enraged with the master of ceremonies’. 

1 remember to have once seen a slave, in a fortification in Flan- 
ders’, who appeared no way touched with his situation’. He was 
maimed’, deformed’, and chained’; obliged to toil from the appear- 
ance of day’ till night-fall‘, and condemned to this’ for life‘; yet 
with all these circumstances of apparent wretchedness’, he sung’, 
would have danced’, but that he wanted a leg’, and appeared the 
merriest, happiest man’ of all the garrison‘. What a practical 
philosopher was here‘! A happy constitution supplied philosophy’; 
and though seemingly destitute’of wisdom, he was really wise’. 
No reading or study’ had contributed to disenchant the fairy-land 
around’ him. Every thing furnished him with an opportunity of 
mirth’; and though some thought him, from his insensibility, a 
. fool’; he was szch‘ an idiot’, as philosophers should wish to imitate’. 

They who, like that slave’, can place themselves on that side 
of the world in which every thing appears in a pleasant light’, 
will find something in every occurrence, to excite their good 
humor’. ‘The most calamitous events’, either to themselves’ or 
others’, can bring no new affliction’; the world is to them a thea- 
ter’, on which only comedies’ are acted. All the bustle of hero- 
ism’ or the aspirations of ambition’, seem only to heighten the 
absurdity of the scene’, and make the humor more poignant’. 
They feel, in short, as little anguish at their own distress’, or the 
complaints of others’, as the undertaker’, though dressed in black’, 
feels sorrow at a funeral’, 

Of all the men I ever read’ of, the famous Cardinal de Retz 
possessed this happiness in the highest degree’. When fortune 
wore her angriest look’, and he fell into the power of Cardinal 
Mazarine’, his most deadly enemy’, (being confined a close pris- 


” 


122 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


oner in the castle of Valenciennes’,) he never attempted to support 
his distress by wisdom or philosophy’, for he pretented to neither’. 
He only laughed at himself’ and his persecutor’, and seemed in- 
finitely pleased at his new situation’. In this mansion of distress’, 
though denied all the amusements and even the conveniences of 
life’, and entirely cut off from all imtercourse with his friends’, 
he still retained his good humor’, laughed at the little spite of his 
enemies‘, and carried the jest so far’ as to write the life of his 
jailor’. 

All that the wisdom of the proud can teach is, to be stubborn or 
sullen under misfortunes’. ‘The ecardinal’s example will teach us 
to be good-humored in circumstances of the highest affliction’. It 
matters not whether our good humor be construed by others into 
insensibility’ or idiotism’; it is happiness to ourselves‘; and none 
but a fool could measure his satisfaction’ by what the world’ 
thinks of it. 

The happiest fellow I ever knew’, was of the number of those 
good-natured creatures’, that are said to do no harm to any body 
but themselves. Whenever he fell into any misery’, he called it 
‘‘ seeing life.’ If his head was broken by a chairman’, or his 
pocket picked by a sharper’, he comforted himself by imitating 
the Hibernian dialect of the one’, or the more fashionable cant of 
the other’. Nothing came amiss’ to him. [His inattention to 
money matters had concerned his father to such a degree’, that 
all intercession of friends was fruitless’. ‘The old gentleman was 
on_his death-bed’. ‘The whole family’ (and Dick was among the 
number’) gathered around’ him. 

*‘] leave my second son’, Andrew,” said the expiring miser’, 
“my whole estate’; and desire him to be frugal’.”” Andrew, ina 
sorrowlul tone’, (as i is usual on such occasions’,) prayed heaven to 
prolong his life and health, to enjoy it himself. “I recommend 
Simon, my third son’, to the care of his elder brother’, and leave 
him, besides’, four thousand pounds’, “ie AOA Tag father’)? cried Si- 
mon’, (in great affliction, to be sure’,) “« may heaven give you life 
and health to enjoy it yourself!’ At last turning to poor Dick’; 
“Ag for you’, you have always been a sad dog’; you’ll never come 
io good’, you'll never be rich';—I leave you a shilling to buy a 
halter’.”’ “Ah father’!”’ cries Dick, without any emotion’, ‘May 
heaven give you life and health’ to enjoy it yourself” 

_ GoLpsmiru. 


9 


os 


_ es ae 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 123 


LESSON XLIV. 
LAFAYETTE AND ROBERT RAIKES. 
(Extract from an address delivered at a Sunday-School Celebration.) 


| Iris but a few years, since we beheld the most singular and 
memorable pageant in the annals of time‘. It was a pageant more 
sublime and affecting than the progress of Elizabeth through 
England’ after the defeat of the armada’; than the return of fran- 


_cis J. from a Spanish prison’ to his own beautiful France’; than 


: 


the daring and rapid march of the conqueror at Austerlitz’ from 
Frejus to Paris’. It was a pageant, indeed, rivaled only in the 
elements of the grand and the pathetic’, by the journey of our 
own Washington, through the different states’, Need I say that 


I allude to the visit of La Fayette to America’? 


But LaFayette returned to the land of the dead’, rather than of 


he living’. How many who had fought with him in the war 


of ’76', had died in arms’, and lay buried’ in the grave of the sol- 
dier or the sailor‘! How many who had survived the perils of 
battle’, on the land and the ocean’, had expired on the death-bed 
of peace’, in the arms of mother’, sister’, daughter’, wife’! Those 
who survived to celebrate with him the jubilee of 1825’, were 
stricken in years’, and hoary-headed‘; many’ of them infirm in 
health’; many’ the victims of poverty’, or misfortune,’ or afflic- 
tion’. And, how venerable that patriotic company‘; how sublime 
their gathering through all the land’; how joyful their welcome’, 
how affecting their farewell’ to that beloved stranger! But the 
pageant has fled’, and the very materials’ that gave it such depth 
of interest’, are rapidly perishing’: and a humble, perhaps a name- 
less‘ grave’, shall hold the last soldier of the Revolution’. And 
shall they ever meet again’? Shall the patriots and soldiers of 
’"76'—the Immortal Band’, as history styles them’,—meet again 
in the amarinthine bowers of spotless purity’, of perfect bliss’, of 
eternal glory’? Shall their’s be the Christian’s Heaven’, the 
kingdom of the Redeemer’? 'The heathen’ points to his fabu- 
lous Elysium, as the Paradise of the soldier and the sage’. But 
the Christian’ bows down with tears’, and sighs‘, for he knows 
that not many of the patriots’, and statesmen’, and warriors’ of 
Christian lands, are the disciples of Jesus’. 


+} But we turn from La Fayette’, the favorite of the old and the new. 


world’, to the peaceful benevolence’, the unambitious achieve- 
ments of Robert Raikes’. Letus imagine him to have been still 
alive’, and to have visited our land’ to celebrate this day with us’. 
No national ships would have been offered to bear Aim’, a nation’s 
guest’, in the pride of the star-spangled banner’, from the bright 
shores of the rising’, to the brighter shores of the sefiing’ sun. 


124 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


No cannon would have hailed him’in the stern language of the 
battle-field’, the fortunate champion of Freedom’, in Europe and 
America’. No martial music would have welcomed him’in notes 
of rapture, as they rolled along the Atlantic’, and echoed through 
the valley of the Mississippi’. No military procession would 
have heralded Ais’ way through crowded streets, thick-set with 
the banner and the plume’,. the glittering saber and the polished 
Raeone No cities would have called forth beauty and fashion’, 
wealth and rank’, to honor him’ in the ball-room and theater’. 
No states would have escorted him’from boundary to boundary, 
nor have sent their chief-magistrate tq do him’ homage, No 
national liberality would have allotted to him’ a nobleman’s do- 
main, and princely treasure’, No national gratitude would have 
hailed him’ in the capitol itself, the nation’s guest, because the 
nation’s benefactor’; and have consecrated a battle-ship’, in mem- 
ory of his wounds and his gallantry’.* 

Not such would have been the reception of Robert Raikes’, in 
the land of the Pilgrims’ and of Penn‘, of the Catholic’, the 
Cavalier’, and the Huguenot’... And who does not rejoice’, that it 
would be impossible ‘hus to welcome this primitive Christian’, 
the founder of Sunday-schools.. Ais’ heralds would be the 
preachers of the Gospel’, and the eminent in piety’, benevolence’ 
and zeal’. fis’ procession would number in its ranks the mes- 
sengers of the Cross’ and the disciples of the Savior’, Sunday- 
school teachers’ and white-robed scholars’. ‘The temples of the 
Most High: would be the scenes of his’ triumph. Homage and 
gratitude to him’, would be anthems of praise’ and thanksgiving 
to God’. 

Parents would honor him as more than a brother‘; children 
would reverence him as more than a father. ‘The faltering 
words of age’, the firm and sober voice of manhood’, the silvery 
notes of youth’, would bless him as a Christian patron’. ‘The 
wise and the good would acknowledge him every where’, as a 
national benefactor’, as a patriot even to a land of strangers’. He 
would have come a messenger of peace to a land‘ of peace. No 
images of camps’, and sieves’, and battles’; no agonies of the dy- 
ing and the wounded’, no shouts of victory’, or processions of 
triumph’, would mingle with the recollections of the multitudes 
who welcomed him‘. They would mourn over no common dan- 
gers’, trials’, and calamities’; for the road of duty has been to 
them the path of pleasantness’, the way of peace’. Z'heir’mem- 
ory of the past would be rich in gratitude to God’, and love to 


* This oe eee may be considered as a series of sentences, and may re- 
ceive the corresponding inflections, or each clause may receive the Mey ee oh 
appropriate to negative sentences. 


~ 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 125 


man’; their’ enjoyment of the present would be a prelude to hea- 
venly®bliss’ ; their’ pervert oF ne deat sit ah and Bromus as 
faith and hope’. 

Such. was the reception of La pyutts, the warrior's such’ 
would be that of Robert Raikes‘, the Howard of the Christian 
church‘. And which is the nobler benefactor’, patriot’, and phi- 
Janthropist’? Mankind may admire and extol La Fayette’, more 
than the founder of the Sunday-schools‘; but religion‘, philan- 
thropy*, and enlightened common sense’, must ever esteem ob- 
ert faikes' the superior of La Fayette’. His. are the virtues’, 
the services’, the sacrifices’ of a more enduring and exalted order 
of being’. is counsels and triumphs’ belong less to f¢me' than 
to eternity’. ©The fame of La Fayette’ is of ¢his' world; the 
glory of Robert Raikes’ is of the Redeemer’s everlasting king- 
dom‘. La Fayette lived chiefly for his own’ age, and chiefly for 
his’ and our! country’. But Robert Raikes has lived for all‘ ages, 
and all‘ countries. Perhaps the historian and biographer may 
never interweave his name’ in the tapestry of national-or indi-_ 
vidual renown’. But the records of every single church’, honor 
him as a patron’; the records of the Universal Church’, on earth’ 
and in heaven’, bless him as a benefactor’. 

The time may come’ when the naine of La Fayette ‘il be 
forgotten’; or when the star of his fame’, no longer glittering in 
the zenith’, shall be seen, pale and glimmeri ing, on the verge of the 
horizon’. But the name of Robert Raikes’ shall never’ be forgot- 
ten; and the lambent flame of Ais’ glory is that eternal fire which 
rushed down from heaven to devour the sacrifice of Elijah’. 
Let mortals‘ then admire and imitate La Fayette’, more than Rob- 
ert Raikes’. But the just made perfect’, and the ministering 
spirits around the throne of God’, have welcomed him as a fel- 
low-servant of the same Lord’; as a fellow-laborer in the same 
glorious cause of man’s redemption’; as a co-heir of the same 
precious promises’ and eternal rewards’.—GrimKE. 


LESSON XLV. 
GOD IS EVERYWHERE. 


! | On! show me where is He’, 
| The high and holy One’, 
To whom thou bend’st the knee, 
And pray’st’, “ Thy will be done’!”? 
I hear thy song of praise’, 
And lo! ne > form' is near: 
Thine eyes‘ [ see thee raise’, 
But where doth God appear’? 


126 MGUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


Oh! teach me who és’ God, and where his glories — ) 
That I may kneel and pray’, and call thy’ Father mine’ 


#y**Gaze on that arch above’; 
“The glittering vault admire’. 
Who taught those orbs to move"? 
Who Vit their ceaseless fire’? 
Who guides the moon to run’ 
In silence through the skies’? 
Who bids that. dawning sun’ 
In strength and beauty, rise’? 
There view immensity’! ! behold’! my God is there: 
The sun‘, the moon’, the stars’, his majesty declare’! 


“See where the mountains‘ rise ; 
' Where thundering torrents’ foam 3 
Where, vailed in towering skies’ 
The eagle‘ makes his home: 
Where | savage nature dwells’, 
My God is present too’; 
Through all. her wildest dells 
His footsteps I pursue’: 
He‘ reared those giant cliffs’, supplies that dashing stream , 
Provides the daily food’ which stills the wild bird’s scream‘. 


“Look on that world ot waves’ 
Where finny natiuns glide’; 
Within whose deep, dark caves 
The ocean-monsters hide’: 
His power is sovereign there, 
To raise’, to quell’ the storm 5 
"The depths this bounty share’ . 
Where sport the scaly swarm’: 
Tempests and calms obey the same almighty voice’, 
Which rules the earth and skies’, and bids far worlds rejoice’, 


“* No human thoughts can soar’ 
Beyond his boundless might’; 
He swells the thunder’s roar’, 
He spreads the wings of night. 
Oh! praise his works divine’! 
Bow down thy soul in _ prayer’; ; 
Nor ask for other sign’, 
That God is every where’: 
The viewless spirit', He'—immortal’, holy’, blest'— 
Oh! worship him in faith’, and find eternal rest'!”—Hurron, 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 12? 


LESSON XLVI. = 
SATAN, SIN,AND DEATH. 
(The following lesson requires variety of tone.) 
/ Meanwuite the aay of God and man,’ 
Satan’, with thoughts 1 inflamed of highest design’, 
Puts on swift wings’, and towards the gates of hell’, 
Explores his solitary flicht’: sometimes’ 
He scours the right’ hand coast, sometimes’ the Jef’; 


Now',shaves with level wing the deep’, then’, soars 
Up to the fiery concave towering high’. 


At last, appear , 

) Hell bounds, high reaching to the horrid roof 
“And thrice three-fold the gates’; three folds were brass’ ; 
Three iron , three of adamantine rock 
Impenetrable, impaled with cireling fire’, 

Yet unconsumed‘. Before the gates there sat’, 
On either sidel, a formidable shape’: 

The one seemed woman to the waist, and fair’; 
But ended foul in many a sealy fold’ 

Voluminous and vast’, a serpent’, armed 

With mortal sting"; about her middle round’, 

A ery of hell-hounds never ceasing barked’, 

With wide Cerberian mouths full loud’, and rung 
A hideous peal’. 


The other shape’, 
A, If shape it might be called, that shape had none’ 

Distinguishable i in member, joint’, or limb’; 
Or substance‘ might be called that shadow!’ seemed, 
For each'seemed either’; black’ it stood as night’, 
Fierce’ as ten furies’, teirible’ as hell’, 
And shook a dreadful dart‘; what Bpeied his head’, 
The likeness of a kingly crown’ had on. 


j, Satan was now at hand, and from his seat 
The monster moving onward, came as fast 
With horrid strides’; hell trembled as he strode’. 
The undaunted fiend what this might be’, admired , 
Admired’, not feared’; God and his Son except’, 
Created thing nought valued he , nor shunned’; 
And with disdainful look thus first began’: 


( i Whence and what art’ thou, execrable shape’? 
That dar’st, though erim and terrible’, advance 
Thy miscreated front athwart my way 
To yonder gates‘? through them I mean to pass’ ’ 
That be assured’, without leave asked of thee’: 
Retire’, or taste’ thy folly ; and learn by proof’, 
Hell-born’, not to contend with spirits * of heaven.’ 


* Milton uniformly pronounces this word in one syllable sp’ rit. 


128 M’GUFFEY’S RETORICAL GUIDE 


(2) 


To whom the goblin’, full of wrath’, replied’: 

“Art thou that traitor-angel’/, art thou he 

Who first broke peace in heaven’, and faith, till then 
Unbroken’; and in proud rebellious arms 

Drew after him the third part of heaven’s sons, 
Conjured * against the highest’, for which,both thou’ 
And they’, out-cast from God’, are here condemned 
To waste eternal days in woe and pain’? 

And reckonest thou thyself with spirits of heaven’, 
Hell doomed’! and breath’st defiance here and scorn, 
Where J’ reign king; and to enrage thee more’, 
Thy king and lord’t Back‘ to thy punishment’, 
False fugitive’! and to thy speed’ add wings’; 

Lest with a whip of scorpions’, I pursue 

Thy lingering’, or, with one stroke of this dart’, 
Strange horror seize thee’, and pangs unfelt' before.” 


So spake the grizly terror’, and in shap \e- 

So speaking and so threatening’, grew ten-fold 
More dreadful and deform’. On the other side’, 
Incensed with indignation , Satan stood 
Unterrified‘, and like a comet burned’, 

That fires the length of Ophiuchus huge 

In the arctic sky’, and from his horrid hair 

Shakes pestilence and war’. Each at the head 
Leveled his deadly aim‘; their fatal hands’ 

No second‘ stroke intend ; and such a frown 

Each cast at the other’, as when two black clouds, 
With heaven’s artillery fraught’, come rattling on™ . 
Over the Caspian’; they stand front to front’, 
Hovering a space’, till winds the signal blow. 

To join their dark encounter in mid air’. 


~ So frowned the mighty combatants’, that hell 


Grew darker at the frown’: so matched’ they stood’: 

For never but once more was either like 

To meet so great a foe’. And now great deeds 

Had been achieved, whereof all hell had rung’, 

Had not the snaky sorceress, that sat 

Fast by hell gate’, and kept the fatal key’, 

Risen’, and with hideous outery rushed between'.—Mu.r0Nn 
a SE OE el he ho eeaae eee a: Seales 

* Con-jured’, conspired. 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 129 


LESSON XLVI. 
IRONICAL EULOGY ON DEBT. 


Dest is of the very highest antiquity’. The first debt in the 
history of man’ is the debt of nature‘, and the first instinct is to 
put off the payment’ of it tc the last moment’. Many persons’, 
it will be observed’, following the natural procedure’, would die 
before they would pay their debts’. 

Society is composed of two classes‘, debtors’ and creditors’. 
The creditor class’ has been erroneously supposed the more en- 
viable‘. Never was there a greater misconception’; and the hold 
it yet. maintains upon opinion’, is a remarkable example of the 
obstinacy of error’, notwithstanding the plainest lessons of ex- 
perience’. ‘Ihe debtor’ has the sympathies of mankind’. He is 
seldom spoken of butwith expressions of tenderness and com- 
passion\—‘ the poor debtor'!’’—and “the unfortunate debtor'!”’ - 
On the other hand’, chepeh and “hard hearted’”’ are the epithets’ 
allotted to the creditor’. Who ever heard the “ poor creditor',”’ 
the ‘‘ unfortunate creditor’ spoken of? No’, the creditor never 
becomes the object of pity’, until he passes into the debtor’ class. 
A creditor may be ruined by the poor debtor’, but it is not until 
he becomes unable to pay his own debts’, that he begins to be __ 
compassionated'. 

A debtor is a man of mark’. Many eyes are fixed upon him’; 
many have interest in his well-being’: his movements are of con- 
cern’: he cannot disappear unheeded‘; his name is in many 
mouths'; his name is upon many books’; he is a man of note-— 
of promissory'note ; he fills the speculation of many minds’; men 
conjecture’ about him, wonder’ about him, wonder’ and conjecture’ 
whether he will pay‘. He is a man of consequence’, for many’ 
are running’afier him. His door is thronged with duns’. He is 
inquired’ after every hour of the day’. Judges hear Of him and 
know him. Every meal he swallows’, every coat he puts upon 
his back‘, every dollar he borrows’, appears before the country in 
some formal document’. Compare /is’notoriety with the ob- 
scure lot of the creditor’, of the man’ who has nothing but claims 
on the world—a landlord’, or fund-holder’, or some such‘ disa 
greeable, hard character. 

The man who pays’ his way is unknown un his neighborhood. 
You ask the milk-man at his door, and he cannot tell his name’. 
You ask the butcher where Mr. Payall lives’, and he tells you 
that he knows no such name’, for it is not in his books’. You 
shall ask the baker’, and he will tell you that’ there is no such 
person in the neighborhood’, People that have his money’ fast 
in their pockets, have no thought of his person’ or appellation’. 


130 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


His house‘ only is known. No. 31’ is good pay’. No. 31’ is 
ready money’. Nota scrap of paper is ever made out for No. 
31‘. It is an anonymous’ house ; its owner pays his way to ob- 
security’. No one knows anything about him’, or heeds his 
movements’. Ifa carriage be seen at his door’, the neighborhood 
is not full of concern lest he be going to run away‘. If a pack- 
age be moved from his house’, a score of boys are not employed 
to watch whether it be carried to the pawnbroker’. Mr. Payall 
fills no place in the public mind’; no one has any hopes’ or fears’ 
about’ him. 

The creditor always figures in the fancy as a sour, single man’, 
with grizzled hair’, a scowling countenance’, and a peremptory 
air’, who lives in a dark apartment’, with musty deeds’ about him, 
and an iron safe’, as impenetrable as his heart‘, grabbing together 
what he does not enjoy’, and what there.is no one about‘ him to 
enjoy. ‘Phe debtor’, on the other hand‘, is always pictured with 
a wife and six fair-haired daughters’, bound together in affection’ 
and misery’, full of sensibility’, and suffering without a fault’. 
The creditor’, it is never doubted, thrives without a merit’. He 
has no wife and children to pity’. No one ever thinks it desira- 
ble that he'should have the means of living’. He is a brute for 
insisting that he must receive’, in order to pay‘. It is not in the 
imagination of man to conceive that his creditor has demands 
upon him’ which must be satisfied‘, and that he must do to oth- 
ers’, as others’ must do to him’. A creditor is a personification 
of exaction’. He is supposed to be always’ taking in,’ and never’ 
giving out’. 

People idly fancy’, that the possession of riches is desirable’. 
What blindness'! Spend and regale’. Save a shilling’ and you 
lay it by for a thief‘. ‘The prudent men’ are the men that live 
beyond their means‘. Happen what may’, they are safe’. They’ 
have taken time by the forelock’. They’ have anticipated for- 
tune’. ‘The wealthy fool’, with gold in store’,” has only denied 
himself so much enjoyment’, which another will seize at his ex- 
pense’. Look at these people ina panic’. See who are the 
fools then’. You know them by their long faces. You may 
say, as one of them goes by’, in an agony of apprehension’, 
«There is a stupid fellow’ who fancied himself rich, because he 
had fifty thousand dollars in bank'.”” The history of the last ten 
years has taught the moral, ‘spend, and regale’.”” Whatever is 
laid up beyond the present hour',is put in jeopardy’. ‘There is 
no certainty but in instant enjoyment’. Look at school-boys 
sharing a plum-cake’. ‘The knowing ones’ eat, as for a race’; but 
a stupid fellow! saves his. portion,—just nibbles a bit’, and “keeps 
the rest for another time‘.”? Most provident blockhead! ‘The 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 131 


others’, when they have gobbled up ‘heir’ shares, set upon him’, 
plunder’ him, and thresh him for crying out’. 

Before the terms “ depreciation’,”’ “ suspension’,”” and “ going 
into liquidation’,’’ were heard, there might have been some rea- 
son in the practice of “ laying up’;’’ but now’ it denotes the dark- 
est blindness’. ‘The prudent men of the present time’, are the 
men in debt‘. The tendency being to sacrifice creditors to debt- 
ors’, and the debtor party acquiring daily new strength’, every one 
is in haste to get into tre favored class’. In any case, the debtor’ 
is safe‘. He has put his enjoyments behind’ him—they are safe‘ 
-—no turns of fortune can disturb’ them. ‘Phe substance he has 
eaten up,is irrecoverable’. ‘I‘he future’ cannot trouble his past". 
He has nothing to apprehend’. He has anticipated’ more than 
fortune would ever have granted‘ him. He has tricked‘ fortune ; 
—and his creditors’'— who feels for creditors‘? What are’ 
creditors ? Landlor itiless and unpitiable tribe'—all grip- 
ing extortioners‘! ould become of the world of debtors’, 
if it did not steal a march upon this rapacious class\’?—ANon. 


LESSON XLVIII. 
THE MISERIES OF IMPRISONMENT. 


Brsurew the sombre pencil’! said I vauntingly‘\—I envy not 
its powers’, which paint the evils of life with so hard and deadly 
a coloring’. The mind herse/f® sits terrified at the objects’ which 
she herself has magnified and blackened’: reduce them to their 
proper light and hue’, she overlooks’ them. ’Tis true‘, said I’, 
correcting the proposition—the Bastile* is an evil’ not to be de- 
spised’; but strip it of its towers’; fill up the foss‘; unbarricade 
the doors’; call it simply a confinement’, and suppose it is some 
tyrant of a distemper'—not a man’—which holds‘ you in it; 
half’ the evil vanishes’, and you bear the other’ half, without 
complaint’. 

I was interrupted in the hey-day of this soliloquy’, with a 
voice, which I took to be that of a child‘, which complained’, * it 
could not get out’.”” I looked up’ and down’ the passage, and 
seeing neither man, woman, nor child’, I went out, without far- 
ther attention. In my return back through the passage’, I heard 
the same words repeated twice over‘; and, looking up’, I saw it 
was a starling’, hung in a little cage’: “J can’t get out'l—TZ can’t 
get out‘!’’ said the starling*. 

I stood looking at the bird’; and to every person who came 


* A strong castle in Paris, for a long time used as a place of confinement 
for state prisoners. 


Lae M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


through the passage’, it ran fluttering to the side towards which - 
they approached’ it, with the same lamentations of its captivity’; 
“I can't get out',” said the starling’. ‘God help’ thee!” said 
I’, “but I will det‘ thee out, cost what it may'.”? So I turned 
about the cage’, to get at the door’. It was twisted and double- 
twisted so fast with wire’, there was no getting it open without 
pulling the cage to pieces’. I took both hands‘ to it. The bird 
flew to the place where I was attempting his deliverance’, and 
thrusting his head through the trellis’, pressed his breast against 
it as impatient’. ‘I fear, poor creature’!” said I’, «that I cannot 
set thee at liberty’:” “ No',’”’ said the starling’, “ Z can’t get out’, 
I can’t get out” said the starling. 
I never had my affections more tenderly awakened; nor do I 
remember an incident in my life’, where the dissipated spirits to 
which my reason had been a bubblgjmvere so suddenly called 
home’. Mechanical as the notes vy et so true in tune to 
nature were they chanted’, that in cnt{ji™ment they overthrew 
all my systematic reasonings upon the Bastile; and I heavily 
walked up stairs’, unsaying every word I had said going down‘ 
them. 
___ Disguise thyself as thou wilt, yet, still, oppression, thou arta 

bitter draught’! and though thousands in all ages have been made 
to drink’ of thee, thou art no less bitter on that’ account. ’Tis 
thou’, Liberty’! thrice sweet and gracious goddess’! whom all in 
public or private worship’, whose taste is grateful‘, and ever will’ 
be so, till nature herself shall change‘. No tint of words can 
spot thy snowy mantle’, or chimic power turn thy scepter into 
iron’. _ With thee, to smile upon him, as he eats his crust’, the 
swain is happier than his monarch, from whose courts thou art 
exiled... Gracious Heaven! Grant me but health’, thou Great 
Bestower’ of it, and give me but this fair goddess as my compan- 
ion’, and shower down thy honors’, if it seem good unto thy 
divine Providence’, upon those heads which are aching’ for them. 

The bird in his cage pursued me into my room’. I sat down 
close by my table‘, and leaning my head upon my hand’, I be- 
gan to figure to myself the miseries of confinement’. I was 
in a right frame* for it, so L gave full scope to my imagination’. 
I was going to begin with the millions of my fellow creatures’, 
born to no inheritance but misery’; but finding, however affecting 
the picture was’, that I could not bring it near’ me, and that the 
multitude of sad groups in it, did but distract’ me, I took a sin- 
gle captive’, and having first shut him up in his dungeon’, I then 
looked through the twilight of his grated door’,to take his picture’ 
I beheld his body half wasted away with long expectation and 
confinement’, and felt what kind of sickness of the heart it is’, 
which arises from hope deferred‘. Upon looking nearer’, I saw 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 133 


him pale and feverish’; in thirty years’, the western breeze had 
not once fanned his blood‘; he had seen no sun’, no moon’, in all 
that time’; nor had the voice of friend or kinsman’ breathed 
through his lattice’; his children-—but here my heart began to 
bleed\—and I was forced to go on with another part of the por- 
trait’, , 

He was sitting upon the ground upon a little straw’, in the 
farthest corner of his dungeon’, which was alternately his chair 
and bed’. A little calendar of small sticks was laid at the head’, 
notched all over with the dismal days and nights he had passed’ 
there. He had one of these little sticks in his hand, and with a 
rusty nail’ he was etching another day of misery to add to the 
heap’. As I darkened the little light he had’, he lifted up a hope- 
less eye towards the door’, cast it down’, shook his head’, and 
went on with his workggf affliction’. I heard his chains upon 
his legs’, as he turned ody’, to lay his little stick upon the 
bundle‘; he gave a d Ph’; | saw the iron enter into his soul’; 
I burst into tears\—I could not sustain the picture of confine- 
ment’ which my fancy had drawn'.—STERNE. 


LESSON XULIX. 
THE PRISONER FOR DEBT. 


Loox‘ on him: through his dungeon-grate’, 
Feebly and cold, the morning light 

Comes stealing round’ him, dim and late’, 
As if it loathed the sight’. 

Reclining on his strawy bed’, — 

His hand upholds his drooping head’; 

His bloodless cheek’ is seam’d and hard’; 

Unshorn his gray, neglected beard’; 

And o’er his bony fingers flow’ 

His long, dishevel’d locks of snow’. 


No grateful fire before him glows’, | 
And yet the winter’s breath is chill : 

And o’er his half-clad person goes’ 
The frequent ague-thrill’. 

Silent’, save ever and anon’, 

A sound, half-murmur and half-groan’, 

Forces apart-the painful grip’ 

Of the old sufferer’s bearded lip’. 

O, sad and crushing is the fate’ 

Of old age chain’d and desolate’. 


Just Gop’! why lies that old man there"? 
A murderer shares his prison-bed*, 


134 MWGUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


Whose eyeballs, through his horrid fair’, 
Gleam on him fierce and red’; 

And the rude oath and heartless jeer’ 

Fall ever on his loathing ear’; 

And, or in wakefulness’ or sleep’, 
Nerve’, flesh’, and fiber’ thrill and creep, 
Nhene’er that ruffian’s tossing limb’, 
Crimsoned with murder, touches him 


What has the gray-hair’d prisoner done"? 
Has murder stain’d his hands with gore’? 
Not so’: his crime’s a fouler‘ one: 
God made the old man poér! 
For this’, he shares a felon’s’ cell, 
The fittest earthly type of hell’; 
For this’, the boon for which he pour’d 
His young blood on the invad vord', 
And ‘counted light the fearful | a 
His blood-gain’d liberty’—is lo 


And so, for such a place of rest’, 
Old prisoner’, pour’d thy blood as rain 
On Concord’s field’, and Bunker’s crest’, 
And Saratoga’s’ plain? 3 
Look forth‘, thou man of many scars’, 
Through thy dim dungeon’s iron bars"! 
It must be joy’,.in sooth’, to see” 
Yon mSnument * uprear’d to thee’ 
Piled granite’ and a prison-cell'! 
The land repays thy service well ! 


Go‘, ring the bells‘, and fire the guns’, 
And fling the starry banner out’; 

Shout’ “Freedom !” till your lisping ones 
Give back their cradle-shout'; 

Let boasted eloquence declaim 

Of honor, liberty’, and fame’; 

Still let the poet’s strain be heard’, 

With “ glory” for each second word’, 

And every thing with breath agree’ 

To praise ‘our glorious liberty‘! 


And when the patriot cannon jars 
That prison’s cold and gloomy wall’, 

And through its grates the stripes and stars 
Rise on the wind, and fall’; 

Think ye that prisoner’s aged ear 

Rejoices in the general cheer’? 

Think ye Ais’ dim and failing eye 

Is kindled at your pageantry’? 


* Bunker’s Hill monument. 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 135 


_. _ Sorrowing of soul‘, and chain’d of limb’, 
“What is your’ carnaval to him‘? 


Down with the law that binds him thus"! 
Unworthy freemen’, let it find 
No refuge from the withering curse’ 
Of Gop and human kind" 
‘ Opensthe prisoner’s living tomb’, 
And usher from its brooding gloom 
The victims of your savage code’, 
To the free sun and air of Gon"! 
No longer dare as crime to brand’ 
The chastening of the Almighty’s hand’!—Wuirtier. 


~ 


) ee ESSON L. 
, OURNAMENT.® ¥ 


* * %* Tue music of the challengers breathed, from time 
to time, wild bursts, expressive of triumph or defiance; while 
the clowns grudged a holyday which seemed to pass away in in- 
activity ;, and old knights and nobles lamented the decay of mar- 
tial spirit, and spoke of the triumphs of their younger days. 
Prince John began to talk to his attendants about making ready 
the banquet, and the necessity of adjudging the prize to Brian de 
Bois-Guilbert, f who had, with a single spear, overthrown two 
knights, and foiled a third. 

At length, as the music of the challengers concluded one of 
those long and high flourishes with which they had broken the 
silence of the lists, [ it was answered by a solitary trumpet, which 
breathed a note of defiance, from the northern extremity. All 
eyes were turned to see the new champion which these sounds’ 
announced, and no sooner were the barriers opened than he 
paced into the lists. As far as could be judged of a man sheath- . 
ed in armor, the new adventurer did not greatly exceed the mid- 
dle size, and seemed to be rather slender than strongly made. 
His suit of armor was formed of steel, richly inlaid with gold; 
aud the device on his shield was a young oak-tree pulled up by 
the roots, with the single word “ Disinherited. ’’ He was mount 
ed on a gallant black horse, and as he passed through the lists, 


* Formerly, when the chief business of all mankind was fighting, it was 
customary for knights to try their courage and skill, by fighting with each 
other with their usual weapons, the lance and sword. ‘l‘his was the favorite 
amusement of the times, and was called a towrnament, (pronounced turn-a- 
ment.) ’ 

t Pronounced Bwah Guil-bare. 

t List, the enclosure within which tournaments were held. 


136 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


he gracefully saluted the prince and the ladies, by lowering his 
lance. ‘The dexterity with which he managed his steed, and 
something of youthfal grace which he displayed in his manner, 
won him the favor of the multitude, which some of the lower ’ 
classes expressed by calling out, “’Touch Ralph de Vipont’s 
shield, touch the Hospitaller’s shield; he has the least sure seat ; 
he is your cheapest bargain.’’* re 

‘The champion moving onward amid the well sedi hints, as- 
cended the platform by the sloping alley which led to it from the 
lists, and, to the astonishment of all present, riding straight up to 
the central pavilion, struck with the sharp end of his spear the 
shield of Brian de Bois-Guilbert,until it rang again. All stood 
astonished at his presumption, but none more so than the re- 
doubted knight whom he had thus defied to mortal combat, and 
who, little expecting so rude a challenge,.was standing carelessly 
at the door of his pavilion. i aa 

‘*‘ Have you confessed yourself, bro > said the ‘Templar, 
Guilbert, “and have you heard mass this morning, that you peril 
your life so frankly?” “I am fitter to meet death than éhow art,”’ 
answered the Disinherited Knight; for by this name the stranger 
had recorded himself in the book of the tourney. “Then take 
your place in the lists,’’ said De Bois-Guilbert, “and look your 
last upon the sun; for this night thou shalt sleep in paradise.’’ 
“Gramercy fT for thy courtesy,” replied the Disinherited Knight, 
‘and to requite it, | advise thee to take a fresh horse, and a new 
lance, for, by my honor, you will need both.” 

Having expressed himself thus confidently, he reined his 
horse backward down the slope which he had ascended, and 
compelled him in the same manner to move backward through 
the lists, till he reached the northern extremity, where he remain- 
ed stationary, in expectation of his antagonist. ‘This feat of 
horsemanship again attracted the applause of the multitude. 

However incensed at his adversary for the precaution which 
he recommended, the ‘Templar did not neglect his advice ; for his 
honor was too nearly concerned to permit his neglecting any 
means. which might insure victory over his presumptuous oppo- 
nent. He changed his horse for a proved and fresh one of great 
strength and spirit. He chose a new and tough spear, lest the 
wood of the former might have been strained in the previous en- 
counters he had sustained. Lastly, he laid aside his shield, which 
had received some little damage, and received another from his 
squires. 


* The challenge to combat was given, by touching the shield of the knight 
whom the challenger wished to encounte*. ‘The challenge to a contest with 
headless or blunt lances, was given by, touching the shield gently with the 
reversed spear, while a b/ow with the point denoted a challenge to mortal con- 
flict. + Many thanks. 


¢ 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 137 


When the two champions stood opposed to each other at the 
two exttemities of the lists, the public expectation was strained 
to the highest-pitch. Few augured the possibility that the en- 
counter could terminate well for the Disinherited Knight, yet his 
courage and gallantry secured the general good wishes of the 
spectators. ‘I'he trumpets had no sooner given the signal, than 
the champions vanished from their posts with the speed of light- 
ning, and closed in the center of the lists with the shock of a 
thunderbolt. ‘The lances burst into shivers up to the very grasp, 
and it seemed at the moment, that both knights had fallen, for 
the shock had made each horse recoil backwards upon its hanch- 
es. ‘The address of the riders recovered their steeds by the use 
of the bridle and spur; and having glared on each other, for an 
instant, with eyes that seemed to flash fire through the bars of 
their visors, each ggired, to the extremity of the lists, and receiv- 
ed a fresh lance fro the attendants. 

A loud shout from tHe spectators, waving of scarfs and hand- 
kerchiefs, and general acclamations, attested the interest taken in 
the encounter. But no sooner had the knights resumed their 
station, than the clamor of applause was hushed into a silence so 
deep and so dead, that it seemed the multitude were afraid to 
breathe. A few minutes’ pause having been allowed, that the 
combatants and their horses might recover breath, the trumpets 
again sounded the onset. ‘The champions a second time sprung 
from their stations, and met in the center of the lists, with the 
same speed, the same dexterity, the same violence, but not the 
same equal fortune as before. 

In the second encounter, the ‘Templar aimed at the center of 
his antagonist’s shield, and struck it so fairly and forcibly, that his 
spear went to shivers, and the Disinherited Knight reeled in his 
saddle. On the other hand, that champion had, in the beginning 
of his career, directed the point of his lance towards Bois-Guil- 
bert’s shield; but changing his aim almost in the moment of en- 
counter, he addressed to the helmet, a mark more difficult to hit, 
but which, if attained, rendered the shock more irresistible. 
Fair and true he hit the ‘Templar on the visor, where his lance’s 
point kept hold of the bars. Yet even at this disadvantage, 
Bois-Guilbert sustained his high reputation; and had not the 
girths of his saddle burst, he might not have been unhorsed. 
As it chanced, however, saddle, horse; and man, rolled on the 
ground under a cloud of dust. 

To extricate himself from the stirrups and fallen steed, was to 
the ‘Templar scarce the work of a moment; and stung with mad- 
ness, both at his disgrace, and the acclamations by which it was 
hailed by the spectators, he drew his sword, and waved it in de- 
fiance of his conqueror. ‘Ihe Disinherited Knight sprung from 

12 


» 


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138 M’GUFFEY’S RHRETORICA sie GUIDE * 


‘his steed’, and also unsheathed his sword’. The marshals of thé 


field’, however, spurred their horses between‘ them, and reminded 
them, that the laws of the tournament! did not, en the present | © 
occasion, permit this y sobs: of encounter’, but that to the * Disin- - 
herited Knight’”’ the meed of victory was fairly and: honorably d 
awarded’.— W aLTer Scorr. 


EN SSS See 3S eS Se a ee 2 = 


LESSON LI. 


PULASKI’S BANNER. 


a * 


Pulaski fell at the taking of Savannah, during the American revolution. 
His standard of crimson silk was presented to him by the Moravian Nuns of 
Bethlehem, Pennsylvania. “ 


Wuen the dying flame of day’ 
Through the chancel shot its rar 
Far the glimmering tapers shed” 
Faint light on the cowled head’, 
And the censer burning swung’, 
Where, hefore the altar, hung 
That proud banner’, which, with prayer, 
Had been consecrated there® ; 

And the nun’s sweet hymn was heard the while’, 

Sung low in the dim mysterious isle’. 


a 


Proudly o’er the good and 

When the battle’s distant wail’ 

Breaks the sabbath of our vale’, 

When the clarion’s music thrills’ 

To the heart « of these lone hills’, 

When the spear in conflict shakes’, 
And the strong lance shivering breaks’. 


“Take thy banner‘!——may (irae 


Take thy banner !—and beneath 
The * war-cloud’s encircling wreath’ 
Guard’ it—till our homes are free’; 
Guard‘ it—God will prosper thee. 
In the dark and trying hour’, 

In the breaking forth of power’, 

In the rush of steeds and men’, 

His right hand will shield thee then’. 7 


Take thy banner!’ But when night 
Closes round the ghastly fight’, * 
If the vanquished warrior bow’, 


* According to the metre, the word ‘‘the’’ would require a prominence which 
its proper relation to the other words forbids. It should, however, be passed 
over slightly, and the vowel in ‘‘war’’ should be prolonged. ‘That is to say, E 
the letter ‘‘e’’ in ‘‘the’’ is short, and ae continue 8O, while, to make up the 
quantity ioanres by the poetry, nee ’’ mm ‘twar’’ must be lengthened. “a 


Se | 
i i t 
” oe Py 
* 
ss - 
<2 


es ~ Sdn 


(*) 


_* 
Ld 


(2) 


(1) 


* Pandour, a Hungarian soldier. 
_ «tf Kosciusko. 


rie 


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Spare‘ him !—by our holy vow , 
By our prayers and many tears’, 
By the mercy that endears’, 
' Spare’ him !—he our love hath shared’, 
Spare him !—as thou would’st be spared’. 


Take thy banner'!—and if e’er 
Thou should’st press the soldier’s bier’, 
And the muffled drum should beat 
* "To the tread of mournful feet’, 
~ Then this crimson flag shall be 
~~. Martial cloke and shroud for thee’.” 
And the warrior took that banner proud’, 


And it was his martial eloke’ and shroud‘.—LonereLLow. 


»»» LESSON LIL. 
DOWNFALL OF POLAND. 


Ou! sacred Truth’! thy triumph ceased awhile’, 
And.Hope, thy sister, ceased with thee to smile’, 
When leagued oppression poured to northern wars’ 
Her whisker’d pandours’* and her fierce huzzars‘,{ 
Waved her dread ess to the breeze of morn’, 


me ig mm‘: 
rum eats twanged her trumpet-horn’; 


Tumultuous horror ded o’er her van’, 
Presaging wrath to _ land’,——and to man’! 


Warsaw’s last champion,t from her heights surveyed’, 
Wide o’er the fields, a waste of ru laid’; 
‘*Oh! heaven’!” he cried’, ‘‘ my: ble 

‘‘Ts there no hand on high to shield the brave’? 

‘“* Yet, though destruction sweep these lovely plains’, 
*‘ Rise’! fellow-men’! our cowntry‘ yet remains! 

‘* By that dread: name we wave the sword on high’, 
“‘ And swear’ for her’—to live'—with her’—to die!” 


He said’, and on the rampart -heights arrayed! 
His trusty warriors’, few, but undismayed’; 
Firm-paced and slow’, a horrid front they form’, 
Still as the breeze’, but dreadful as the storm’; 


Low murmuring sounds along their banners fly’, 


Revenge’, or death‘,—the watch-word’ and reply’; 
Then pealed the notes, omnipotent to charm’, 
And the loud tocsin tolled their last alarm’. 


In vain’, alas‘! in vain’, ye gallant few’! 
From rank to rank, your volleyed thunder flew"! 


4 


+ Huzzar, a Hungarian horseman. 


140 


M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


Oh blocdiest picture in the book of time’ 5 

Sarmatia fell‘, unwept’, without a crime’; 

Found not a generous friend’, a pitying foe’ % 
Strength in her arms’, nor mercy in her woe'! 
Dropped from her nerveless grasp the shattered spear, 
Closed her bright eye’, and curbed her high career’; 
Hope, for a season, bade the world.farewell’, 

And freedom shrieked'—as Kosciusko fell"! 


The sun went down‘, nor ceased the carnage there’, 
Tumultuous murder ahosk the midnight air’; “ 
On Prague’s proud arch the fires of ruin glow’, 

His blood-dyed waters murmuring far below’; ; 

The storm prevails‘, the rampart yields away’, 

Bursts the wild cry of horror and dismay"! 

Hark“! as the smoldering piles with thunder fall , 

A thousand shrieks for hopeless mercy call’! 

Earth shook , red meteors flashed along the a 3 

And conscious Nature shuddered at the 


(h) Oh righteous heaven ! ere Freedom found a grave’, 


Why slept the sword, omnipotent to save‘? 

Where was thine‘ arm, O Vengeance’! where thy rod’, 
That smote the foes of Zion and of God"? 

That crushed proud Ammon, when his iron ear’ 

Was yoked in wrath, and thundered from afar‘? 
Where was the storm that slumbered till the host 

Of blood-stained Pharaoh left their trembling coast’; 
Then’, bade the deep in wild commotion flow’, 

And heaved an ocean on their mareh below“? 


Departed spirits of the mighty dead’ 

Ye that at Marathon and Leuctra bled’! 

Friends of the world’! restore your swords to man; 
Fight i in his sacred cause and lead the van! ‘! 2 
Yet', for Sarmatia’s tears of blood’, atone’, 

And make her arm puissant as your own"! 

Oh! onee again to Freedom’s cause return’ 


The patriot Tent'—the Bruce or Bannocxpourn’!—CAaMPBELL. 


LESSON LIII. 


SOUTH CAROLINA. 


Ir there be one state in the Union, Mr. President’, that may 
challenge comparison with any other’, for a uniform’, zealous’, 
ardent’, and uncalculating’ devotion to the Union’, that sfate is 
South Carolina’. Sir', from the very commencement of the 
revolution’, up to this hove! , there is no sacrifice, however great’, 
she has not cheerfully made‘; no service’ she has ever hesitated . 
to perform’. 


os 


wt 
: OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 7 141 


She has adhered to you in your prosperity’; but in your ad- 
versity’, she has clung to you with more than filial affection’. 
No matter what was the condition of her domestic’ affairs, though 
deprived of her resources’, divided by parties‘, or surrounded by 
difficulties’, the call of the country has been to her as the voice of 
God. Domestic discord ceased at the sound’; every man became 
at once reconciled to his brethren‘, and the sons of Carolina were 
all seen’, crowding together to the temple’, bringing their gifts to 
the altar of their common country’. 

~ What, sir’, was the conduct of the South, during the revolution? 
Sir’, | honor New England for her conduct in that glorious strug- 
gle’. But great as is ‘the praise which belongs to her’, I think at 
least egual honor is due to the South*. Never’ was there exhibi- 
ted’,in the history of the world‘, higher examples of noble daring", 
dreadful suffering’, and heroic endurance’, than by the whigs of 
Carolina, during the revolution’. ‘The telote state’, from the 
mountains’ to the s was overrun by an overwhelming force of 
the enemy’. ,Jhe fruits of industry’ perished on the spot where 
they were produced’, or were consumed by the foe’. 

«The plains of Carolina”’ drank up the most precious blood © 
of her citizens’. Black,smoking ruins’ marked the places which 
‘had been the habitation of her children‘. Driven from their homes 
into the gloomy and almost impenetrable swamps’, even there’, 
the spirit of liberty survived’, and South Carolina’, sustained -by 
the example of her Sumpters’ and her Marions’, proved, by her 
conduct, that though her soil’ might be overrun’, the spirit of her 


people! was invincible. —Havnz. 
“) 


‘Dies . 
LESSON LIV. 


MASSACHUSETTS AND SOUTH CAROLINA. 


Tue eulogium pronounced on the character of the state of 
South Carolina’, by the honorable gentleman, for her revolution- 
ary and other merits, meets my hearty concurrence’. I shall not 
acknowledge that the honorable member goes before me,in regard 
for whatever of distinguished talent or distinguished character’, 
South Carolina has produced’. I claim part of the honor‘; I par- 
take in the pride of her great names’. I claim them for country- 
men‘, one’ and all‘'—the Laurenses‘, the Rutledges', the Pinck- 
neys’, the Sumpters’, the Marions\“—Americans’ a/l'—whose fame 
is no more to be hemmed in by state lines’, than their talents and 
patriotism were capable of being circumscribed within the same 
narrow limits’. 

~ In their day and generation’, they served and honored the coun- 
try’, and the whole’ country, and their renown’ is of the treasures' of 


i ? 


142 M'GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE © > 
| jhe 


the whole country. Him‘, whose honored name the gentleman 


himself. bears,—does he suppose me less capal ble of gratitude for 
his’ patriotism, or sympathy for his’ suffering, than if his eyes had 
first opened upon the light in Massachusetts, instead of South 
Carolina’! Sir’, does he suppose it in his power to exhibit in 
Carolina a name so bright as to produce envy in my bosom’? 
No‘, sir,—increased gratification’ and delight’ rathere Sir’, 1 
thank God’, that, if. I am gifted with little of the spirit which 1s 


said to be able to raise mortals to the skies’, I have yet none, as * 


I trust, of that other spirit’, which would drag angels down’. 

When I shall be found, sir’, in my place here in the senate’, or 
elsewhere’, to sneer at public merit, because it happened to spring 
un beyond the little limits of my oun’ state or neighborhood’; 
w)xen I refuse for any such cause’, or for amy‘ cause, the homage 
due to American talent’, to elevated patriotism’, to sincere devo- 
tion to liberty and the country’; or if see an uncommon endow- 
ment of Heaven’; if l see extraordinary capaeity or virtue in any 
son of the South’; and if, moved by local prejudice’, or gangre- 
ned by state jealousy’, I get up here to abate a tithe of a hatr* 
from his just character and just fame’, may my tongue cleave to 


- the roof of my mouth. . co 
Mr. President’, I shall enter on no encominm upon Massadhue’ 
setts. She needs\none. ‘There she is‘; beheld’ her,and judge 


for yourselves’. ‘There is her histor ‘.- the world knows it by 
heart’... The past’, at least, is secure’ “There is Boston‘, and 
Concord’, and Lexington’, and Bunker-hill’; and there they will 
remain leceven And, sir’, where American liberty raised its 
first voice’, and where its youth was nurtured and sustained’, there 
it still lives’, in the strength of its manhood’, and full of its origi- 
nal spirit’. If discord and disunion shall wound’ it; if party 
strife and blind ambition shall hawk at and tear’ it; if folly and 
madness’, if uneasiness under salutary restraint’, shall succeed to 


Separate it from that Union’, by which alone its existence is made 


sure’, it will stand, m the end, by the side of that cradle in which 


its infancy was rocked’; wt will stretch forth its arm with whatever 
of vigor it may still retain’, over the friends who gathered around’ 
it; and it will fall at last, if fad/‘it must’, amid the proudest 
monuments of its glory’, and on the very spot of its origin’. 

. WEBSTER. 


Z 5 : 
©"OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 143 


* en 


is LESSON LV. | 
Eas .. MODULATION. ay 


: "Tis not enough the voice’ be sound and clear’, 
*Tis modulation’ that must charm the ear . 
a When desperate heroes grieve with tedious moan , : 
And whine their sorrows in a see-saw tone’, . 
, e same soft sounds of unimpassioned woes’, 
* ie: Can only make the yawning hearers doze‘. 
The voice’ all modés of passion can express’, 
That marks the proper word with proper stress’: 
But noné emphatic can that speaker call’, 
» Who lays an equal’ emphasis on all’. 


as Some’ Ray er the nz the labored measures roll’, 
ee ~ Slowsand deliberate as*the parting toll’; 

~ . Point every stop’, mark every pause so strong’, 

“© Their words like: stage proceseigae stalk a 3 

ep Pi: 
ue 


sal affectation am creates disgust’; 


wee d e’en in spea » we may seem too just’. 
‘ ee rain for them" the pleasing measure flows’, 
—e “Whos ose recitation ruhs it all to prose’; he 
_ Repeating what the pect sets not down’, . ae 
‘ ‘The verse disjoint rom its favorite noun‘, . 


While pause’, and 


ik, and repetition’ join ; ; 
To make a diceuat 


: each tuneful line’ : 


¥: * Some’ placid nat Ul the alloted scene’ 
ae +8 With ifeless dray 
} While others’ thun¢ Ty couplet o’er, 
' ~~ And almost crack your ears with rant and roar’, 
More nature oft, and finer strokes are shown 
In the low whisper’, than tempestuous tone’; 5 
» And Hamlet’s Hollow voice and fixed amaze’ : 
More powerful terror. to the mind conveys’, 
Than he’, who,swollen with impetuous rage, 
Bullies the bulky phantom of the stage’. bl 


He who, in earnest’, studies o’ er his part’, 

ge Will find true nature cling about his heart*. 
The modes of crief are not included all 

~ In the white handkerchief’ and mournful drawl’; 
A single /ook‘ more marks the internal woe’, . 
Than all the windings of the lengthened Ol! a 
_Up to the face the quick sensation flies’, eg 
And darts its meaning from the speaking eyes : 
Love’, transport’, madness’, anger’ ; scorn’ : despair’, 

Age ; “And all the passions’, all the soul is there'.—L1oyp. 

a Se. 


ay oe 


o> 


144 


ge es 
M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


LESSON LVI. 


OTHELLO’S APOLOGY. * 
(This should be read in a middle tone.) 


Most potent’, grave’, and reverendseigniors’, 

My very noble and approved good masters’, 
That I have ta’en away this old man’s daughter’, 
It is most true’; true’, | have married‘ her; 


The very head and front of my offending * 
Hath this extent‘, no more’. & 
Rude am Tin speech’, . ‘ 


And little blessed with the set phraseof peace’, 

For since these arms of mine had i" years pith, 

Till now some nine moons wasted’, they have us’d 

Their dearest action in the tented field’; 

And little of this great world can I speak’ ‘ 
More than pertains to feats of brodl’ and battle’; 

And therefore little shall I grace my cause’, 

In speaking of myse/f*. Yet,by Uo dezracions patie 
I will a round unvarnished tale deliver . 
Of my whole course of love; what’drugs‘, what charms‘, ~ 
What conjuration’ and what mighty magic’, 

(For such proceeding I am charged withal’,) 

I won his daughter’ with. Ba a 

Her father loved‘ me; oft invited‘ me; 

Still questioned me the story of my life, , 
From year to year’; the battles sreges’, fortunes’, ~ - 
That I have passed‘. ee: a 

T ran it through’, even from my boyish days’, 

To the very moment that he bade me tell it. 

Wherein I spoke of most disastrous chances‘, 

Of moving accidents, by flood and field’; 

Of hair-breadth ’scapes in the imminent deadly breach’; 
Of being taken by the insolent foe, 

And sold to slavery’; of my redemption thence’; 

And with it, all my travel’s history’. 


These things to hear’ 2 
Would Desdemona seriously incline’: 
But still the house affairs would draw her thence’; 
Which ever as she could with haste dispatch’, 
She’d come again, and with a greedy ear 
Devour up my discourse’: which I observing’, 
‘Took once a pliant hour’, and found good means 
‘To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart , 
That I would all my pilgrimage dilate , 
Whereof by parcels she had something heard’, 
But not attentively’. 


Oe ra 
hogs 


# OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 145 


’ I-did consent’: 
And often did beguile her of her tears’, 
When I did speak of some distressful stroke’, 
That my youth suffered‘. My story being done’, 
She gave me for my pains a world of sighs’: 
She said’,—In faith’, twas strange’, twas passing strange; 
"Twas pitiful’, twas wondrous* pitiful ; 
She wished she had not heard" it; yet she wished’, 
That heaven had made her such’ a man, 


She thanked‘ me; 
And bade me, if I had a friend that lov’d’ her, ‘ 
I should but teach him how to tel] my story’, 
And that would woo’ her. Qn this hint’, I spake’: 
She lov’d’ me for the dangers I had pass’d ; 
And I lov’d her’, that she did pity’ them. 
This only is the witchcraft’ I have used‘\—Swaxspzare. 


LESSON LVII. 
FAITHLESS NELLY GRAY. ie 


Ben Barrie was a soldier bold’, 
And used to war’s alarms’; 

But a cannon-ball took off his legs’, 
So he laid down his arms’. 


Now’, as they bore him off the field’, 
Said he’, ** Let others‘ shoot, 

For here I leave my second leg 
And the Forty-second foot'.” 


The army surzeons made him limbs’; 
Said he’, ** They ’re only pegs’, 
But there ’s as wooden members quite 


As represent my legs'.” 


Now Ben’, he loved a pretty maid’, 
Her name’ was Nelly Gray‘; : 

So he went to pay her his devoirs’, , 
When he ’d devoured his pay’. 


But wnen he called on Nelly Gray’, 
She made him quite a scoff’, 

And when she saw his wooden legs’, 
Began to take them off’. 


: “O, Nelly Gray’! O, Nelly Gray’! 
Is thts your love so warm’? 

The love that loves a scarlet coat’, 

Should be more uniform.” 


13 


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* % : 


A g's i Sa 
146 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE : 
Je i” ~ "Said she’, **I loved a soldzer‘ once’, 
ps For he was blithe and brave’; 


But I will never have a man’ 
With both legs in the grave’. 


‘Before you had these timber toes’, 
Your love I did allow’, 

But then’, you know’, you stand upon 
Another footing’ now.” 


‘QO, false and fickle Nelly Gray’,  , 

, 1 know why you refuse’: : 

Though I ’ve no feet’/—some other’ man 
Is standing in my shoes'. 


“T wish I ne’er had seen your face’; 
But, now, a long farewell’! — 

For you will be my death‘;—alas! 
You will not be my Neu!” 


Now when he went from Nelly Gray’, 
His heart so heavy got’, 

And life was such a burden grown’, 
It made him take a knot’. 


So, round his melancholy neck’ 
A rope he did entwine’, 
And for the second time in life’, 
Enlisted in the Line’. : 


One end he tied around a beam’, 
¥ And then removed his pegs’, 
And, as his /exs were off’, of course, 
He'soon was off his legs’. 


And there he hung till he was dead 
As any nail in town'— 

For though distress had cut him up’, 
Tt could not cut him down‘.—Hoop. 


~ 


LESSON LVIII. 
In this lesson, notice the relative emphasis and antithetic inflections. 
HOMER AND VIRGIL. 
Upon the whole’, as to the comparative’ merit of these two 
great princes of epic poetry’, Homer’ and Virgil’, the former 
must undoubtedly be admitted to be the greater genius’; the. 


latter’ to be the more correct writer. Homer was an original 
in his art, and discovers both the beauties’ and the defects’ which 


ey a ay 
JE ee " ieee 

an original author, compared with those 

who succeed’ him; more boldness, more nature’ and ease’, 

more sublimity’ and force’; but gre ter tr egularities’ and neg- 

igences’ in composition. at, Be bx: 

Virgil’ has, all along, kept his eye upon Homer’; in many 
places’, he has not so much imitaied’, as he has. literally trans- 
lated’ him. The*description of the storm‘, for instance, in the 
first Alneid, and Eneas’s speech’ upon that occasion, are transla- 
tions’ from the fifth book of the Odyssey’; not to mention almost 
all the similes' of Virgil, which are no other than copies’ of those 


of Homer’.. The pre-eminence in invention’, therefore, must, 


beyond doubt, be ascribed to Homer’. As to the pre-eminence 
in judgment’, though many critics are disposed to give it to 
Virgil’, yet, in my’ opinion, it hangs doubtful. In Homer’, we 
discern all the Greek vivacity’; in Virgzl’, all the Roman state- 
liness’. /Zomer’s imagination is by much the most rich and 
copious’; Virgil’s’ the most chaste and correct’. The strength 
of the former’ lies in his power of warming the fancy’; that of 
the laéier’, in his power of touching the heart. 

Homer’s' style is more simple and animated’; Virgil’s’ more 
elegant and uniform’. ‘The first’ has, on many occasions, a sub- 
limity’ to which. the latter never’ attains; but the dafter‘, in re- 
turn, never sinks below a certain degree of epic dignity’, which 
cannot be so clearly pronounced of the former’. Not, however, 
to detract from the admiration due to both’ these great poets, 
most of Homer’s defects may reasonably be imputed, not to his 
genius’, but to the manners_of the age’ in which he lived; and 
for the feeble passages of the Aineid, this‘ excuse ought to be 
admitted, that it was left’ an unfinished’ work.—Buarr. 


- _ LESSON LIX. 


INFLUENCE OF NATURAL SCENERY. 


rE _ ECLECTIC SERIES. 143. 


er) 


Wuarever leads the mind habitually to the Author of the © 


universe’; whatever mingles the voice of nature with the inspira 
tion of the Gospel’; whatever teaches us to see in all the changes 
of the world, the varied goodness of Him‘, in whom “we live, 
and move, and have our being’,”’ brings us nearer to the spirit of 
. the Savior of mankind’. But it is not only as encouraging a sin- 
cere devotion’, that these reflections are favorable to Christianity’; 
there is something’, moreover, peculiarly allied to its spirit in 
such observations of external nature’. 

When our Savior prepared himself for his temptation’, his 
agony’, and death’, he retired to the wilderness of Judea, to in- 


bg 


4 ae es _ ee 
Pus. ies M'GUFFEY’S RE HETORICAL GUIDE * 
hale’, we may venture to buibve, a holier spirit amidst its s 
- seenes', and to approach to a nearer communion with his Father’, 
amid the sublimest of his works‘. It is with ‘similar feelings’, 
and to worship the same Father’, that the Christian’ is permitted 
to enter the temple of nature, and, by the spirit of his religion’, 
there is a language infused into the objects which she presents’ ; 
unknown to the worshiper of former times’. “To all, indeed, the 
same objects appear’, the same sun shines’, the same heavens are 
open’; but to the Christian alone’ it is permitted to know the Au- 
| thor’ of these things; to see his spirit ‘move in the breeze’, and 
blossom in the spring’; ” and to read, in the changes which oecur 
in the material world’, the varied expression of eternal love’. It 
is from the influence of Christianity’, accordingly, that the key 
has been given to the signs of nature’... It was only when the 
spirit of God’ moved on the face of the deep’, that order and 
beauty were seen in the world’. 

It is, accordingly, peculiarly well worthy of observation, that 
the beauty of nature‘, as felt in modern times’, seems to have 
been almost unknown to the writers of antiquity‘. ‘They des- 
cribed’, occasionally, the scenes in which they dwelt’; but,’'—if 
we except Virgil’, whose gentle mind seems to have anticipated, 
in this instance, the influence of the Gospel’, —never with any 
deep feeling of their beauty’. Then', as now’, the citadel of 
Athens looked upon the evening sun’jand her temples flamed in 
; his setting beam‘; but what Athenian writer ever described the 
| matthless glories of the scene’? Zhen’, as now’, the silvery 
clouds of the fiigean sea rolled xound her verdant isles’, and 
sported in the azure vault of heave ‘but what Grecian poet has 
been inspired by the sight? 

The Italian lakes sprea ad their waves beneath a cloudless sky’, 
and all: that is lovely in nature°was gathered around them’; yet 
even Eustace' tells’ us, that a few detached lines is all that is left 
in regard to them by the Roman poets’. ‘The Alps themselves, 


Te he ce eee: ee 


‘«' The palaces of nature’; whose vast walls 
Have pinnacled in clouds their snowy scalps’, 
And throned eternity in icy halls 

Of cold sublimity’, where forms and falls 


(Whee 


The avalanche/—the thunderbolt of snow’, : 


even these’, the most glorious objects which the eye of man can 
behold’, were regarded by the ancients with sentiments only of 
* dismay or horror’; as a barrier from hostile nations’, or as the . 
dwelling of barbarous tribes‘. ‘The torch of religion had not then 
lightened the face of nature’; they knew not the language which 
she spoke’, nor felt that holy spirit, which, to the Christian’, gives 
the sublimity of these scenes’, 
There is something, therefore, in religious reflections on the 


Ge Pea 
1 ena, 
ft ¥ ‘ ni We 
OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 149° 


objects’ or the changes’ of nature, which is peculiarly fitting in 
a Christian teacher’. No man will impress them on: his heart 
without becoming happier and better‘, without feeling warmer 
gratitude for the beneficence of nature’, and deeper thankfulness 
for the means of knowing the Author of this beneficence' which 
revelation has afforded’. “Behold the lilies of the field’,”’ says 
our Savior’; “they toil not’, neither do they spin’: yet, verily I 
say unto to you’, thateven Solomon‘, in all his glory’, was not 
arrayed like one of these’.”’ In these words’, we perceive the 
deep sense which he entertained of the beauty even of the minutest 
of the works of nature’. If the admiration of external objects is 
not directly made the object of his precepts’, it is not, on that ac- 
count, the less allied to the spirit of religion’; it springs from the 
revelation which he has made’, and grows with the spirit which 
he-inculcates'*. 

The cultivation of this feeling, we may suppose’, is purposely 
left to the human mind’, that man may be induced to follow it 
from the charms which novelty confers‘; and the sentiments 
which it awakens are not expressly enjoined’, that they may be 
enjoyed as the spontaneous growth,.of our own imagination’. 
While they seem, however, to spring up unbidden in the mind’, 
they are, in fact, produced by the spirit of religion’; and those 
who imagine that they are not the fit subject of Christian instruc- 
tion’, are ignorant of the secret workings’, and finer analogies’, of 
the faith which they protaes -— ANONYMOUS. 


2 
ma 


‘- 


LESSON LX. 


VIEW OF THE COLISEUM.* 


On the eighth of November, from the highland near Baccano’, 
and about fourteen miles distant’, I first saw Rome’; and, although 
there is something very unfavorable to impression in the expecta 
tion that you are to be greatly impressed’, or that you ought’ to 
be, or that such is the fashion‘; yet Rome is too mighty a name 
to be withstood by such’, or any other’ influences. Let you@ 
come upon that hill in what mood you may , the scene will lay 
hold’ upon you, as with the hand of a giant’. I scarcely know 
how to describe’ the impression, but it seemed to me’, as if 
something strong and stately, like the slow and majestic march 
of a mighty whirlwind’, swept around those eternal towers’; the 
storms of time, that had prostrated the proudest monuments of 
the world’, seemed to have left their vibrations in the still and sol- 


* Pronounced Col-i-sé-um. 


-_— Oe eee 


2 


15 t - 
50 MWGUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


emn air’y ages of history passed before‘ me; the mighty procession 
of nations’, kings’, consuls‘, emperors‘, empires’, and generations,’ 
had passed over that sublime theater. ‘The fire’, the storm’, the 
earthquake’ had gone by‘; but there was yet left the stillesmall 
voice’ like that’, at which the prophet Ye pect gat his face in his 
mantle’.”’ 

I went to see the Coliseum’ by moonlight. “It is the monareh’ 
the majesty’ of all ruins‘; there is nothing like’ it. All the asso 
ciations of the place’, 100, give it the most impressive character’. 
When you enter within this stupendous circle of ruinous walls 
and arches’, and grand terraces of masonry’, rising one above 
another’, you stand upon the arena of the old gladiatorial com- 
bats and Christian martyrdoms'; and as you lift your eyes to the 
vast amphitheater’, you meet, in imagination, the eyes of a hun- 
dred thousand Romans’, assembled to witness these bloody spec- 


tacles’, What a multitude and mighty array of human beings’, 


and how little do we know in modern times of great assemblies‘! 
One, two, and three, and at its last enlargement by Constantine, 
more than three hundred thousand\-persons could be seated’ in 
the Circus Maximus‘! 

But to return to the Coliseum‘; we went up under the conduct 


. of a guide’, upon the walls and terraces, or embankments’, which 


supported the ranges of seats’. The seats’ have long since dis- 
appeared’; and grass overgrows the spots where the pride’, and 
power’, and wealth’, and beauty’ of Rome sat down to its barbar- 
ous entertainments’. What thronging life was here then! What 
voices‘, what greetings’, what hurrying footsteps up the stair- 
eases of the eighty arches of entrance‘! and now’, as we picked 
our way carefully through decayed passages’, or cautiously as- 
cended some moldering flight of steps’, or stood by the lonely 
walls'—ourselves silent’, and, for a wonder, the guide silent too’ 
—there was no sound here but of the bat‘, and none came from 
without’, but the roll of a distant carriage’ or the convent bell’, 
from the summit of the neighboring Esquiline’. 

It is scarcely possible to describe the effect of moonlight upon 
this ruin. ‘Through a hundred rents in the broken walls,’ through 
a hundred lonely arches’, and blackened passage-ways’, it stream- 
ed in’, pure’, bright‘, soft‘, lambent', and yet distinct and clear’, as 
if it came there at once to reveal’, and cheer’, and pity’ the mighty 
desolation’. But if the Coliseum is a mournful’ and desolate’ 
spectacle as seen from within'—without, and especially on the 
side which is in best. preservation’, it is glorious’. We passed 
around’ it; and, as we looked upward’, the moon shining through 
its arches’, from the opposite side’ it appeared as if it were the. 
coronet of the heavens’, so vast‘ was it—or like a pone crown’ 
upon the brow of night’ 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES, 151 


I feel that I do not and cannoé‘describe this mighty ruin, I 
can only say that I came away paralyzed’, and as passive as a 
child’, A soldier stretched out his hand for ‘*an dono’',’’ as we 
passed the guard’; and when my companion said I did wrong to 
give’, I told him that I should have given my cloke’, if the man 
had asked" it. Would you break any spell that worldly feeling 
or selfish sorrow may have spread over’ your mind’, go and see 
the Coliseum by moonlight’..—Dewevy. 


LESSON LXI. 
THE RUINS OF HERCULANEUM. 


Aw inexhaustible mine of ancient curiosities exists in the ruins 
of Herculaneum, a city lying between Naples and Mount Vesu- 
vius, which in the first year of the reign of Titus was over- 
whelmed by a stream of lava from the neighboring volcano. 
This lava is now of a consistency which renders it extremely 
diffieult to be removed ; being composed of bituminous particles, 
mixed with cinders, minerals, and vitrified substances, which 
altogether form a close and ponderous mass. 

In the revolution of many ages, the spot it stood upon was en- 
tirely forgotten; but in the year 1713 it was accidentally discov- 
ered by some laborers, who, in digging a well, struck upon a 
statue on the benches of the theater. Several curiosities were 
dug out and sent to France, but the search was soon discontin- 
ued‘; and Herculaneum remained in obscurity till the year 1736, 
when the king of Naples employed some men to dig perpendicu- 
larly eighty feet deep ; whereupon not only the city made its ap- 
pearance, but also the bed of the river, which ran through’ it. 

Iirthe temple of Jupiter were found a statue of gold, and the 
inscription that decorated the great doors of the entrance. Ma- 
ny curious appendages of opulence and luxury have since been 
discovered in various parts of the city, and were arranged in a 
' wing of the palace of Naples, among which are statues, busts, 
and altars; domestic, musical, and surgical instruments; tri- 
pods ; mirrors of polished metal ; silver kettles ; and a lady’s toi- 
let furnished with combs, thimbles, rings, ear-rings, etc. 

A large quantity of manuscripts was also found among the 
ruins ; and very sanguine hopes were entertained by the learned, 
that many works of the ancients would be restored to light, and 
that a new mine of science was on the point of being opened ; 
but the difficulties of unrolling the burnt parchments, and of de- 
ciphering the obscure letters, have proved such obstacles, that 
very little progress has been made i in the work. 

The streets of Herculaneum seem to have been perfectly 


152 M’GUFFEY'S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


Straight and regular; the houses well built, and generally uni- 
form ; and the rooms paved either with large Roman bricks, mo- 
saic work, or fine marble. It appears that the town was not 
filled up so unexpectedly with the melted lava, as to prevent the 
greater part of the inhabitants from escaping with their richest 
effects ; for there were not more than a dozen skeletons found, 
and but little gold or precious stones, 

‘The town of Pompeii was involved in the same dreadful ca- 
tastrophe ; but was not discovered till near ferty years after the 
discovery of Herculaneum. Few skeletons were found in the 
streets of Pompen; but in the houses, there were many in situ- 
ations which plainly proved that they were endeavoring to es- 
cape, when the tremendous torrent of burning lava intercepted 
their retreat. Korzexus. 


’ 


LESSON LAXIL. 


THE ROMAN SOLDIER;—LAST DAYS OF HERCULANEUM 


THERE was a man,’ 

A Roman soldier’, for some daring deed 
That trespassed on the laws’, in dungeon low 
Chained down’. His was a noble spirit‘, rough, 
But generous’, and brave’, and kind’. 
He had a son‘; it was a rosy boy’, 
A little copy of his faithful sire’, 
In face and gesture’. From infancy’, the child 
Had been his father’s solace and his care’. 

| Kivery sport’ 
The father shared and heightened‘. But, at length’, 
The rigorous law. had grasped’ him, and condemned 
To fetters and to darkness’. 


The captive’s lot’, 
He felt in all its bitterness‘:—the walls 
Of his deep dungeon answered many a sigh’ 
And heart-heaved groan‘. His tale was known, and touched 
His jailer with compassion‘; and the boy’, Seen 
Thenceforth a frequent visitor’, beguiled 
His father’s lingering hours’, and brought a balm 
With his loved presence, that in every wound 
Dropt healing’. But, in this terrific hour’, 
He was a poisoned arrow’ in the breast’ 
Where he hud.been a cure’. ; 


With earliest morn’ 
Of that first day of darkness and amaze’, 
He came‘. The iron door was closed‘,—for them’ 
Never to open more‘! The day’, the night 
Dragged slowly by’; nor did they know the fate’ 


7” 


OF THE ECLECTIC SRRIES, 153 


Impending o’er the city‘ aie they heard’ 
The pent-up thunders in the earth beneath’, 
And felt its giddy ree king ; ; and the air 

Grew hot',at length’, and thick’; but in his straw’ 
The boy was sle eeping’ : and the father hoped 

The earthquake might pass by’; nor would he wake 
From his sound rest the unfearing child’, nor tell 
The dangers cf their state : 


‘* 


(i) On his low couch 
The fettered soldier sank’, and, with deep awe’, 
Listened the fearful scunds‘: with upturned eye’, 
To the gréat gGds he bréathed a prayer; then’, strove 
To calm’ himself, and lose in sleep’ awhile hh 
His useless terrcrs’. But he cou/d‘ not sleep: : 
His body burned’ w ith feverish heat’; his chains 
Clanked loud’, although he moved not's deep i in earth 
Groaned unimaginal ble thunders’; ; sounds’ ; 
Fearful and ominous’, arose’ and died’, 
Like the sad méanings of Novémber’s wind, 
In the blank midnight. (/1) Déépest horror chilled 
His blood that biumed before 5 ——cold, clammy swéats 
Came 6’er him j—then anon’, 2 fiery thrill 
Shot through his veins’. N ow’, at his couch he shrunk, 
And shivered as in fear‘;—now’, upright leaped, 
As though he heard: the battle trumpet sound’, 
And longed. to cope with death’. 

~” He siept',at last,’ 
A ‘troubled, anny sleep’. Well had he slept 
Never to waken more’! His hours are few, 
But terrible his agony’. 

Soon the storm 

Burst’ forth ; ; the lightnings glanced’; the air’ 
Shook with the thunders, They awoke’; they sprung 
Amazed upon their feet’. The dungeon glowed 
A moment as in sunshine’—-and was dark’: 
Again, a flood of white flame fills the cell’, 
Dying away upon the dazzled eye 
In darkening, quivering tints’, as stunning sound . 
Dies throbbing’ , ringing’ in the ear’. With intensest awe, 
The soldier’s frame was filled‘; and many a thought 
Of strange foreboding hurried through his mind’, 
As underneath he felt the fevered earth 
J; larring’ and lifting’ s—and the massive walls’, 
Heard harshly erate’ and strain’: yet knew he not, 
While evils undefined and yet te eome 


, Glanced through his thoughts’, what deep and cureless wound 


Fate had already’ dy given.—W here’, man of woe’! 
Where , wretched father’! is thy boy’? Thou callest 
His name in vain':—he cannot answer" thee. 


“ee Loud ily the father called upon his child‘:— 


No voice replied.” 'Trembl ingly and anxiously’ 
He searched their couch of straw’; with headlong ent 


154 M’GUFFEY'S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


Trod round his stinted limits’, and, low bent’, 
Groped darkling on the earth’: —nod child was there’, 
(h) Again‘ he called —again’, at farthest stretch 
Of his accursed fetters’,—till the blood 
_ Seemed bursting from his ears’, and from his eyes 
Fire flashed’, he strained with arm extended far, 
And fingers widely spread’, greedy to touch 
Though but his idol’s garment’. Useless toil"! 
Yet still renewed':—still round and round he goes , 
And strains , and snaiches\,—and with dreadful cries 
Culls‘ on his: boy 


(Ah) Mad frenzy’ fires him now: 
’ He plants against the wall his feet’; his chain 
Grasps ; tues’ with giant strenoth to force away’ 
* The deep-driven staple; yells‘ ‘and ha ‘with rage ° 
And, like a desert lion in the snare’, 
Raging to break his toils’,—to and fro bounds’. 
Oo But see! the ground is opening’ :—a blue light 
Mounts, gently waving’,—noiseless::—thin and cold 
It seems’, and like a rainbow" tint, not flame; 
But by its luster’, on the earth datstretehed” 5: 
Behold the lifeless child! his dress is singed’, 
And,o’er his face serene,a darkened line’ 
Points out the lightning’s track’. 


(il) The father saw’ — 
And all his fury fled‘:—a dead calm fell Piet: 
That instant on’ him :—speechless’—fixed’—he stood , 
And with a look that never wandered’, gazed 
Intensely on the corse’. Those laughing eyes! 
Were not yet closed‘,—and round those ruby lips’ 
The wonted smile returned’. 


Silent and pale’ 
The father stands':—no tear is in his eye’:— 
The thunders bellow‘ s—but he hears‘ them not’:— 
The ground lifts like a sea‘; he knows’ it not';— 
The strong walls grind and gape’:—the vaulted roof’ 
Takes shape like bubble tossing in the wind’: 
See! he looks up and smiles‘;—for death to him 
Is happiness’, Yet could one last embrace 
Be given’, ’twere still a sweeter’ thing to die. 


It will‘ be given. (h) Look’! how the rolling ground’, 
At every swell’, nearer and still more near’ 
Moves towards the father’s outstretched arm his boy’: 
Once he has touched his garment! :—how his eye 
Lightens with love’, and hope’, and anxious fears" 
Ha'! see’! he has’ him now !—he clasps‘ him round ; 
Kisses’ his face; puts back the curling locks’, 
That shaded his fine brow’; looks‘ in his eyes 
Grasps‘ in his own’ those little dimpled hands’; 
Yd) Then folds him to his breast’, as he was wont 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 155 


To lie when sleeping’; and resigned’ awaits 
Undreaded death’. ) 

(i?) And déath came sddn, and swift, 
And pangless: The huge pile sink d6wn at 6nce 
Into the Opening éartn. Walls —arches’—roof/— 
And deep foundation stones’/—all—mingling—fell"! 
ATHERSTONE. 


“a 


LESSON LXUL. >, 
THE FAMILY MEETING. 


We are all here! 
Father’, mother , 
Sister’, brother’, 

All who hold each other dear’. 
Fach chair is filled‘—we ’re all at home’: 
To-night’, let no cold stranger come’: 
It is not often thus around 
Our old familiar hearth we ’re found’: 
Bless then the meeting and the spot* 
For once’,be every care forgot’; 

Let sentle Peace assert her power" , 
And kind Affection rule,the hour’; 
Hs x 4 MPWezre all—all’ here’. 


ay We’re not' all Rare-t 

Some re away'—the dead‘ ones dear, 
Who thironged with us this ancient hearth’, 
And gave the hour to guiltless mirth'. 

- Fate, with a stern relentless hand’, 
Look’d-in and thinn’d our little band’: 
Some’ ,lilke a night-flash, passed away’, 
And some’ sank lingering day by day’; ; 
The quiet grave-yard’ —some’ lie there'— 
And cruel Ocean’ has Azs‘ share: 

We’re not all here. 


-  Weare‘allhere! ~ 
\ Even they’, thesdead'—though dead’, so dear’, 
Fond Memory, to her duty true’, 
Brings back their‘ faded forms to view. 
How life-like through the mist of years’, 
Each well-remembered face appears"! 
We see them as in times long past’, 
From each to each’ kind looks are cast’; 
We hear their words‘, their smiles‘ behold, 
They ’re round’ US, as they were of old‘— 

We are’ all here. 


We are all here’! 
Father’, mother’, ‘ 
Sister’, brother, 


156 


MGUFFEY’S REETORICAL GUIDE 


You that I love’ with love so dear’. 
This may not long of us be said’; 
Soon must we join the gathered dead’, “ee. 

And by the hearth we now sit round’, 
Some other’ circle will be found’. 
Oh! then’, that wisdom may we know’ ’ 
Which yields a life of peace below’; se 
So’, in the world to follow this’, — ® 
May each repeat, in words of bliss’, : 
~ We're all’—all’—here'!—Cuaruns Sprague. 


4 oe 


LESSON LXIV.. 
1°M PLEASED AND YET I’M SAD 


Wuen twilight steals along the ground’, 

And all the bells are ringing round’, 
One’, two’, three’, four’ and five’, 

I at my study window sit’, 

And, wrapped in many a musing fit’, 
To bliss am all alive’. — 


But though impressions calm. hea weet * 
Thrill round my-heart a holy heat’, ‘ 
And I am inly’glad’, 
The tear-drop stands in either eyed, 
And yet I cannot tell thee why’, © 
I’m pleased’, and yet I’m sad‘. 


The silvery rack that flies away’ 

Like mortal life or pleasure’s ray’, 2% 
Does that’ disturb my breast ? 

Nay‘, what have J‘, a studious man’, 

To do with life’ s unstable plan’, z 
Or pleasure’s’ fading vest? 


Is it that here I must not stop’, = > 
But o’er yon blue hill’s woody top m7 
Must bend my lonely way’? in 


No‘, surely no'! for give but me’ ; 
My. own fireside’, and I shall be z ee 
At home’, where’ er I stray”. = 


Then is it that yon steeple there’, ; hie < 
With music sweet shall fill the air’, ee 


When thow no more canst hear’? 

Oh, no‘! oh, no‘! for then forgiven’, 

I shall be with my God in heaven’, df gt 
Released from every fear’. 


Then whence it is’ I cannot tell’, 
But there zs‘ some mysterious spell’ 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 157 


That holds me when I’m glad’; 3 
~ And so the tear-drop fills my eye’, 
sid When yet, in truth, I know not why’, 
Or wherefore’, I am sad‘.—H. K. Wnaire. 


= 
LESSON LXV. 


i. e ‘Ste bat 
ELIJAH. 


Anp Ahab told Jezebel all that Elijah-had done‘, and withal’, 

how he had slain all the prophets with the sword’. Then Jeze- 
bel sent a messenger unto Elijah’, saying, So let the gods do to 
me‘, and more. also’ , if I make not thy” life as the life of one of 
them’, by to-morrow about this time’. And when he saw that’, 
he arose and went for his /ife‘, and came’ and sat down under 
a juniper-tree‘, and he requested for himself that he might die’; 
and said’, It is enough’; now, O Lord’, take away my life’; for I 
am not better than my fathers’. 
_ And as he lay and slept under a juniper-tree’, behold, then an 
angel‘ touched him, and said unto him’, Arise’, and eat‘! And he 
looked’, and, behold, there was a cake baked on the coals’, and a 
cruse of water at his head‘. And he did’ eat! and drink‘, and 
laid him down‘ again. And the angel of the Lord came again the 
second’ time, and touched him, and said’, Arise’ and eat’; because 
the journey is too great' for thee. And he arose’, and did eat’ and 
drink’, and went in the strength of that meat, forty days’ and for ty 
nights’, unto Horeb’, the mount of God’. 

_. And he came thither unto a cave’, and lodged’ there; and be- 
hold, the word ofthe Lord came‘ to ita, and he said unto him’, 
What dost thou here‘, Elijah’? And he said’, I have been very 
- jealous for the Lord God of hosts’; for the children of Israel have 
forsaken thy covenant’, thrown down thine altars’, and slain thy 
“prophets with the sword’: and I’, even J‘ only, am left; and they 

~ seek my’ life,to take it away. 

.\ “ae And -He said’, Go forth’, and stand upon the mount before the 
dard’. And, behold, the Lord passed by‘, and a great and strong 
od wind rentthe mountains’, and brake in pieces the rocks’, before 
~ the Lord’; but the Lord was not in the wind’: and after the wind 
 an-earthquake'; but the Lord was not in the earthquake’: and afier 
§ the earthqu uake’, afire’; but the Lord was not in the fire’: and after 
ae eee fire’, a still; small voice’. And it was so’, when Elijah heard’ 
“it, that he wrapped his face in his mantle’, and went out, and 
stood in the entering in of the cave’. 
And behold there came a voice unto him’,and said’, What dest 
thou here‘, Elijah’? And he said’, I have been very jealous for 


% 


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ae Oe ee ee ee, ee ee en. 


158 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


_the Lord God of hosts‘; because the children of Israel have for- » 
“saken thy covenant’, thrown down ‘thine altars’, and» slain thy ). 
prophets with the sword’; and J’, even J‘ only’, am left’; and ghey Ae 
seek my life, to take it away. Andthe Lord said unto him’, Go’, 


_ return on thy way to the wilderness of Damascus’: and when thou 
~ comest’, anoint Hazael’ to be king over Syria’; and Jehu’ the son 


of N faghi shalt thou anoint to be king over Israel’; and E isha’ 
shalt thou anoint to be prophet in thy room’ And it shall come 
to pass’, that Him that escapeth. the sword of Hazael’, shal 

slay; and him that escapeth the sword of Jehu’, shall El 
slay. Yet I have left me seven thousand in Israel’, all the knees 
which have not bowed unto Baal’, and every mouth which hath 


not kissed’ him. So, he departed thence‘.—Biste. jaa 
Pes LESSON GXVI. 7 i 
‘ _-«xELIJAH AT MOUNT HOREB. 


‘Go forth’,”’ it had been said to Elijah’, « and stand upon the 
mount before the Lord’.’’ The prophet hears’ it, and leaves his 
eave’; and no sooner is he gone forth’, than signs occur which 
announce to, him the approach of the Almighty’. The sacred 7 
historian here, indeed, depicts in simple language’, a-most sub- — 
lime scene’. ‘The first sign was a tremendous wind. Just be- 
fore’, probably, the deepest silence had prevailed throughout this _ 
dreary wilderness’. The mountain-tempest breaks forth, and 
the bursting rocks thunder, as if the four winds’, having been 
confined there, had in an instant broken from pie prisons to- 
fight’ together. The clouds are driven about in the sky’, like —— 
squadrons of combatants rushing to the conflict’. The sandy des- ~~ 
ert is like a raging sea’, tossing its curling billows to the sky’. 
Sinai is agitated’, as if the terrors of the law-giving were reneW-2 : 
ing a around’ it. ‘The prophet feels the majesty of Jehovah itis. 
awful and appalling’. It is not a feeling of peace’, and of the 
Lord’s blissful nearness’, whieh possesses Elijah’s soul in’ this. © 
tremendous scene’; it is rather a feeling of distressing distance’; in 
‘6a strong wind. went before the Lord, ; but the Lord was nof*in — 
the wind'.”’ ble om, : 

The terrors of an earthquake’ next ensue. “The very, 
tion of ithe hills shake’ and’ are removed’. . The movntar 
the rocks which were rent by the mighty wind’, t threaten no v to 
fall upon one another’, Hills sink down’, and valleys ris jk 
chasms yawn’, and horrible depths unfold’, as if the earth were Sm 
remayge out of his place’. The prophet peice <i the rains. ; 


‘OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 159 


of nature’, feels still more of that divine majesty’, which “look- 
» eth upon ‘the: earth, and it trembleth’.”” But he ‘still remains 
» without any gracious communication of Jehovah in the iner 
man. The earthquake’ was only the second herald of the 
Deity’. It went before! ne Lord, ¢ but the Lord was no?’ in the 
earthquake.” 
When. this had ceased, an awful fire’ passes inh As the 
pees had done before’, so now the flames‘ come upon him from 
ery side’, and the deepest shades of night are turned into the 
light of day’. Elijah, lost in adoring astonishment’, beholds the 
awfully sublime spectacle’, and the inmost sensation of his heart’ 
must have been that of surprise ‘and dread’; but he enjoys, as yet’, 
no delightful Sensation of the divine presence’; “the Lord was 
not! in the fire’.”’ 
The fire disappears’, and tranquillity’, mee the stillness of the 
sanctuary’, spreads gradually over all nature’; and it seems as if 
» every hill and dale’, yea, the whole earth and skies’, lay in silent 
x homage’ at the footstool of eternal Majesty’. The very moun- 
tains seemed‘ to worship’; the whole scene is hushed to profound 
peace’; and now’, he hears a “‘still,small vdice.”’ «And it Was so 
when Elijah heard’ it, he wrapt his-face in his mantle,’ in token 
of reverential awe’ and adoring wonder’, and went forth’, ‘and 
stood at the entrance of the cave’. ” KRumMacner, 


a! 


*< 


wily 


LESSON. LXVIL. 
DISCONTENT.—AN ALLEGORY. 


Ir is a celebrated thought of Socrates’, that if all the misfor- 
- tunes of mankind were cast into a public packs in order to be 
~ equally distributed. among the whole species’, those who now 
think themselves the most t unhappy, would prefer the share they 
are already possessed of’, before that which would fall to them 
-by such a division’. Horace has carried this thought a good 
- deal further’, and supposes that the hardships or misfortunes we 
 aiee’ under, are more easy to us, than those of any other person 
would be’,in case we could change conditions’ with him. 
As I was ruminating on these io remarks’, and seated in my 
elbow-chair’, I insensibly fell asleep’; when, on a sudden, me- 
- thought there was a proclamation made by Jupiter’, that every mor- 
_ tal should bring in his griefs and calamities’, and throw them to- 
& gether i in a heap’. "There was a large plain appointed for the pur- 
pose’. Itook my stand in the center of it, and saw, with a great 
deal of pleasure, the whole human species marching, one af ier an- 
other’, and throwing down their several loads", which immediately 


en 


. Spit : 


a, 


NaS aA Eins SSSinreerae agg oipemramen meter 9 Si 


fT tn ne Seem eh 


160 _'W GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


grew up into a prodigious mountain’, that seemed to rise above the 
clouds’ - ee as ba 
"Vhere was @ certain lady of a thin, airy shape’, who was ve 
active’ inthis sclemnity.. ‘She carried a magnifying glass in’ 
of her hands’, and was clowie 
dered with several figures of fiends and spectres’, that discovered 
themselves in a thousand crimerical phapes, as her garments*hoy- 
ered in the wind’, “There was something wild and distracted in 
her leoks’. Hler name was Fancy’. “She led up every morial 


to the appointed place, ‘after having very Biloiwladly assisted him _ 


in making up his pack’, and laying it upon his shoulders’. My 
heart melied within’ me, to-seé my fellow-creatares eroani ing un- 
der their respective burdens’, und io consider that prodigious | vale 
of human calamities which lay before’ me. on 

‘There were, however, several persons who gave me great di- 
version’ upon this occasion. I observed one bringing in a pack 


very carefully concealed under an old embroidered eloke’, which, 


upon his throwing it into the heap, I discovered to be poverty’. 
Another, after a great deal of puffing’, threw down his baggage, 
which, upon examining, I found to be his wife’. . There were 
multitudes of lovers saddled with very whimsical burdens, com- 
posed of darts and flames‘; but, what was very odd’, though they 


sighed as if their hearts would break under these bundles of ca- 


lamiiies’, they could not persuade themselves to cast them into 
y J 


the heap, when they came up“to it; but, after a few faint efforts’, — 


shook their heads and marched away, as heavy laden as they 
came’. 

I saw multitudes of old women throw down their wrinkles, 
and several young ones who stripped themselves of a tawny skin‘. 
There were very great-heaps of red noses‘, large lips’, and rusty 


teeth’. The truth of it is’, | was surprised to see the greatest part 
of the mountain made up of bodily deformities. Observing one © 


advancing toward the heap, with a larger cargo than ordinary up-_ 
on his back’, I found, upon his near aphpe Cs that it was onlyva_ 


natural hump", which he disposed, of, with great joy of heart’, 


among this collection of human miseries’. ‘There were, likewise, 
distenyp ers. of all sorts, though I could not but observe, that there 
were many more wmaginary' than rea’. One little packet I 
could not but take notice’ of, which was a complication of all the 


diseases incident to human nature’, and was in the hand of a great ~ 


many fine people. Zhis’ was called. the spleen’. But. what 
most of all surprised me was’, that there was not a single vice’ 
or folly’ thrown into the whole heap‘: at which I was very much 
astonished’, having concluded within myself, that every one 
would take this opportunity of getting rid of his passions’, pre- 
judices', and frailties”. 


d in a loose, flowing robe, embroi- 


“a 


F td 
-OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 161 


I took notice, in particular, of a very profligate fellow’, who, I 
did not question, came loaded with his crimes‘, but upon search- 
ing his bundle’, I found, that instead of throwing his guili' from 

nim, he had only laid down his memory‘. He was followed by 
ther worthless rogue’, who ie teray his modesty’ instead 
of his ignorance’. ; 

When the whole race of clghaee had thus cast away their 
burdens’, the phantom which had been so busy on this occasion’, 

eeing me an idle spectator of what had passed’, approached* to- 
ward me, Il grew uneasy at her presence’, when, of a sudden’, 
she held her magnifying-glass full before my eyes‘. Ino sooner 
saw my face’ in it, than I was startled at the shortnesss‘ of it, 
which now appeared in its utmost aggravation’. ‘The immoderate 
breadth of the features made me very much out of humor with 
my own countenance‘, upon which’,I threw it from me like a 
mask‘. It happened very luckily, that one who stood by me had 
just before thrown down /izs’ visage, which, it seems, was too 
long’ for him. It was, indeed, extended to a most shameful 
length‘; I believe the very chin‘ was, modestly speaking’, as long 
as my whole face. We had both of us an opportunity of mend- 
ing’ ourselves ; and all the contributions being now brought in’, 
every man was at liberty to exchange his. misfortunes for those 
of another‘ person. 

. As we stood round the heap’, and surveyed the several materi- 
als of which it was composed’, there was scarce a mortal in this 
vast multitude’, who did not discover what he thought pleasures 
and blessings of life’; and wondered how the owners of them 
ever came to Jook upon them as burdens and grievances’. As we 
were regarding very attentively this confusion of miseries’, this 
chaos of calamities’, Jupiter issued a second proclamation’, that 
every one was now at liberty to exchange his affliction, and to 
return to his habitation with any such other bundle as he should 
select’. Upon this’, Fancy began to bestir herself, and parceling 


out the whole heap with incredible activity’, recommended to ev- 
ery one his particular packet. ‘The hurry and confusion at this 


time was not to be expressed’. Some observations, which I 
made at the time’, I shall communicate to the public’. 
A venerable eray-headed man’, who had laid down the colic’, 


and who, I found, wanted an heir to his estate’, snatched up an 


undutiful son, that had been thrown into the heap by his angry 
father’. ‘The graceless eit in less than a quarter of an hour, 
pulled the old gentleman by the beard’, and had liked to have 
knocked his brains‘ out; so that the true father coming towards 
him with a fit of the sripes’, he begged him to take his son’ again, 
and give him back his colic‘; but ‘they were incapable’, either of 
them, to recede from the choice they had made‘. A poor galley 
14 


162 » “M’GUFFEY'’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 

a 
slave, who had thrown down his chains', took up the god. in 
their stead, but made such wry faces’, that one might easily per- 
ceive he was no great gainer’ by the bargain. 

The female world were very busy -among themselves in bar- 
tering for features’; one wasetrucking a lock of gray hairs’ for a 
ahi , and another was making over a short waist’ for a pair 
of round shoulders’; but on all these occasions there was not 

one of them who did not think the new’ blemish, as soon as she - 
had got it into her possession, much more disagreeable than the 
old one. 

I must not omit my own particular adventure’. My friend 
with a long visage had no sooner taken upon him my short face’, 
but he made such a grotesque figure’ in it, that as | looked upon 
him, [ could not forbear laughing at myself’, insomuch: that I put 
my own face out of countenance’. 'The poor gentleman was so 
sensible. of the ridicule’, that I found he was ashamed of what he 
had done’. On the other side’, | found that I myself had no great 
reason to triumph’, for as I went to touch my forehead’, I missed 
the place, and clapped my finger upon my upper lip. Besides, 
as my nose was exceedingly prominent’, | gave it two or three 
unlucky knocks as I was playing my hand about my face’, and 
aiming at some other’ part of it. 

I saw two other’ gentlemen by me, who were in the same 
ridiculous circumstances’. These had made a foolish swap, be- 
tween a couple of thick bandy legs’, and two long trap-sticks that 
had no calves’ to them. One of these looked like a man walking 
upon stilts‘, and was so lifted up in the air, above his ordinary 
height’, that his head turned round’ with it, while the other made 
such awkward circles, as he attempted to walk’, that he scarce 
knew how to move forward upon his new supporters’. Observing 
him to be a pleasant kind of a fellow’, I stuck my cane in the 
ground’, and told him I would lay a bottle of wine, that. he did not 
march up to it on a straight line’, in a quarter of an hour’. 

The heap was at la ast distributed among the two sexes‘, who 
made a most piteous sight’, as they wandered up and down under 
the pressure of their several burdens‘. The whole plain was 
filled with murmurs and complaints’, groans and lamentations’. 
Jupiter at length taking compassion on the poor mortals’, ordered 
them a second‘ time to lay down their loads’,.with a design to 
give every one his own‘ again. ‘They discharged themselves 
with a great deal of pleasure ; after which, the phantom, who had 
led them into such gross delusions’, was commanded to disappear". 
‘There was sent in her stead’, a goddess of quite a different figure: 
her motions’ were steady and composed’, and her aspect serious’, 
but cheerful’. She, every now and then, cast her eyes towards 
heaven’, and fixed them on Jupiter‘. Her name was Patience’. 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES, = |. 163 
: <3 od 

She had no sooner placed herself by the Mount of Sorrows’, but, 
what I thought very remarkable, the whole heap sunk to such a 
degree’ that it did not appear a third‘ so big as before. She after- 
wards returned every man his own proper calamity’, and teaching 
him how to bear it in the most commodious manner’, he marched 
off with it contentedly‘, being very well pleased that he had not 
been left to his own choice’, as to the kind of evil which fell to 
his lot’. ; 

Besides. the several pieces of morality to be drawn out of this 
vision’, I learnt from it, never to repine at my own misfortunes’, 
or to envy the happiness of another’; since it is impossible for 
any man to form aright judgment of his neighbor’s sufferings’; 
for which reason eer , | am determined never a think too lightly 
of another’s complaints’, but to regard the sorrows of my fellow- 

creatures’ with sentiments. of humanity and compassion’. 

ADDISON. . 


LESSON LXVIUII. 


THE KNAVE UNMASKED. 
Scene 1.—Camp before Florence. 


Enter Count Rozencrantz, the c caplain of horse in the Duke of Flor- 
ence’s, army, and Capt. Domain and his brother, lwo officers under the 
Count. 


lst Capt. Dumain. Nay", ¢ ood my lord’, try’ him. If your lord- 
ship find him not a knave’, ike me henceforth for a fool’. 

2d Capt. Dumain. On my life‘, my lord’, he is a mere bubble’. 

Count Rozencrantz. Do you think Tam sé far deceived’ in him? 

Ist Capt. D. Believe it‘, my lord’. To my certain knowledge’, 
without any malice’, but to speak of him as gently as if he were my 
kinsman, he’s a nonious coward’, an infinite and endless liar‘, an 
hourly promise ‘breaker, and the owner of no one good quality worthy 
-your lordship’s respect’. 

2d Capt. D. It is important that you should understand’ him, lest, 
-Yeposing too far in a virtue’, which he hath not, he might, on some 
important occasion’, in some pressing danget’, fail’ you. 

Count R. I would I knew in what particular action to try’ him. 

2d- Capt. D. None better than to let him fetch off his drum’, 
wiih you heard him so confidently undertake’ to do. 

Ist Capt. D. I’, with a troop of Florentines’, will suddenly sur- 
prise’ hin. I will have men whom, Lam SUTe, he knows not from the 
enemy’. We will bind and hoodwin k him so’, that he shall suppose 

that he is carried into the enemy’s camp’ : when we bring him to cur 
tents’. Be but your lords! hip present at the examination’; "Tf he do not’, 
for the promise of his life’, and under the compulsion af base fear’, 
vilify us all’, offer to betray’ you, and deliver all the intelligence in 


164 M’GUFFEY’S RHETCRICAL GUIDE ‘ 
his power against’ you, and ¢hat' with the forfeit of his soul upon 
oath’, never trust my judgment in any’ thing. 

2d ‘Capt. D. O for the love of laughter’, let him fetch his drum’; 
he says he has a stratagem’ for’t. When your lordship sees the up- 
shot of this affair’, and to what metal this counterfeit lump | of ore will 
be melted’, if you give him not John Drum’s entertainment’, your par- 
tiality is indeed beyond the influence of reason’. Here he comes’. 


Enter DELGRADO. 


Ist Capt. D. O, for the love of laughter’, hinder not the humor of 
his design’; let him fetch off his drum’, any’ how. 

Count R. How now‘, Monsieur’? this drum sticks sorely in your 
disposition‘. 

2d Capt. D. . Hang* it, let it go's tis but a driim. 

Delgrado, Buta drum’! Is°t but a drum’? A drum s0 lost"! 

2d Capt. D. It was a disaster of war that Cesar himself‘ could not 
have. prevented’, if he had been there to command’. 

Count It. Well‘, we have reason to be satisfied with our success’. 
Some dishonor we had in the loss of that drum’, but it is not to be re- 
covered’. 

Del. It might! have been recovered. 

Count Ry Jt might, but it is not now. 

Del. - It is’ to be recovered 3 but that the merit of service is seldom 

attached to the real performer’, I would have ¢hat\drum or another’, or 
hic jacet’. 
_ Count R. Why’, if you have a stomach! to’t, Monsieur’, if you 
think your skill in stratagem can recover’ this instrument of honor, be 
magnanimous in the enterprise’, and goon’. I will do honor to the 
attempt as a worthy exploit’. If you speed well’ in it, the Duke 
shall both spewk’ of it, and extend to you what further becomes his 
greatness’, even to the utmost extent of your merit’. 

Del. By the hand of a soldier’, I will undertake’ it. 

Count. R. But you must not now slumber’ in it. 

Del. Vl about it this evening’. I will contrive my plans’, pre- 
pare myself for the encounter’, and, by midnight’, look to hear fur- 
ther’ from me. 

Count R. I know thou art valiant’, Farewell"! 

Del. I love not many words‘. [ Bait. 

1st Capt. D. No more than a fish’ loves water’. Is not this a 
strange fellow’, my lord’, that so confidently undertakes this busi- 
ness’, which he SPT is Gt to be done’? 

2¢ Capt. D. You' do not know‘ him, my lord’, as we do: certain 
it is, that he will steal himself into a man’s favor’, and for a week 
escape discovery’, but when you find him out’, you have him ever 
after’. 

Count R. Why‘, do you think that he will make no attempt at the 
deed, which he so boldly and seriously promises’? 

lst Capt. D. None in the world’; but return with an invention’, 
and clap upon you two or three plausible lies‘; but we have almost 
encompassed’ him; you shall see him fall to-night’; for, indeed’, he is 
not worthy of your lordship’s confidence’. [_Exeunt. 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 165 


Scene I].—Without the Florentine Camp. 
Enter 1st Caprain Duman, with five or six soldiers in ambush. 


1st Capt. D. He can come no other way but by this hedge corner". 
When you sally’ upon him, speak what terrible language you will’; 
though you understand it not yourselves‘, no matter’; for we must not 
seem to understand’ him; but some one among us must be an inter- 
preter’. 3 

1st, Suidier. Good Captain’, let me‘ be the interpreter. 

ist Capt. D. Are you not acquainted’ with him? Knows he not 
your voice’? 

Ist Sold. No‘, sir, I warrant‘ you. 

Ist Capt. D. But what linsey-woolsey have you to speak to us 
again 2 

lst Sold. Even such as you speak to me’. 

si Capt. D. He must think us some band of strangers’ in the ene- 
my’s army’. Now, he hath a smack of all neighboring languages’; ; 
therefore we must all gabble’ , each after his own fancy ; 80 we seem! 
to know what we say, is to know straight to our purpose’. As for 
you’, interpreter’, you must seem very politic’ . But, hide’: ho! here 
he comes’; to beguile two hours in sleep’, and then to return and 
swear to the lies he forges’. 


Enter DeELGRADO. 


Del. Ten o’clock*: within these two hours ’twill be time enough 
to go home’, What shall I say I have done‘t It must be a very 
plausible invention that carries‘ it. They begin to smoke‘ me; and 
disgraces have, of late, knocked too often at my door’. I find my 
tongue is too fool- hardy"; ; but my heart hath the fear of Mars’ before 
it, and of his creatures‘, not daring to make good! the reports of my 
tongue’. 

ist Capt. D. This is the first trut/’ that thy tonbue was ever guilty 
of. e Aside 

Del. What madness‘ should move me to undertake the recovery of 
this drum‘; being not ignorant of the impossibility’, and knowing” | 
had no such purpose ? “I must give myself some hurts’, and say’, I 
got them in the exploit’. Yet slight ones will not carry‘ it: they will 
say’';—Come you off with so little/?—and gréat ones I dare’ not give. 
Tongue’, | must put you into a butter-woman’s mouth’, and buy an- 
other of "Bajazet? s mute’, if you prattle me into these’ perils. 

Ist Capt. D. Is it possible’, he should know! what he is, and be’ 
what he is! [ tstde. 

Del. would the cutting of my garments would serve’ the turn; 
or the breaking of my Spanish sword’. 


ist Capt. D. We cannot let you off so. [Zside. 
Del. Or the shaving of my beard’, and say it was in stratagem’. 
ist Capt. D. *Twould not do. [ Aside. 
Del. Or to drown my clothes’ , and say’, I was stripped’. 

Ist Capt. D. Hardly serve’. [ Aside. 
Del. Though I swore [ leaped from the window of the citadel’/— 
Ist Capt. D. How deep’ U [ Aside. 


Del. Thirty fathom‘. 


¢ 


sees ee eel eC eee, ll V7 eee 


* etre 


RR en re 


ge Ee ee TE Pr Re am 


en ae 


lO ee 


ile pie iniieleinnei teas ened a sae te ce 


166 M’GUFFEY'S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


1st Capt. D. Three great oaths would scarce make that be believed’. 
[ Aside. 
Del. I would I had any drum of the enerny’s’; I would swear’, ] 


. had reeovered it. 


Ist Capt. D. You shall hear’ one anon. [ Aside. 
Del. A drum now of the enemy’s’! [Alarum within. 
1st Capt. D. 'Throca movousus, cargo, cargo, cargo. 
All. Cargo, cargo, villianda par cargo, cargo. 
Del. O! ransom‘! ransom‘!—Do not hide mine eyes’. 
[They seize him and blindfold him. 
1st Sold. Boskos thromuldo boskos. 
Hel. I know you are the Muskos’ regiment’, 
And I shall lose my life for want of language’; 
If there-be here German’, or Dane‘, Low Dutch’ 
Italian‘, or French’, let him speaks to me 5 
T will discover that’, which shall wado' 
The Florentine. . 
Ist Sold. ~ Boskos vanvado :— 
T understand‘ thee, and can speak thy tongue‘;— 
Kerely bonto :—Sir, 
Betake thee to thy faith , for seventeen poinards 
Are at thy bosom". 
Del. Oh! oh! oh! 
Ist Sold. O, pray’, pray’, pray‘;— 
Manka revania dulche. 
[st Capt. D. Oscorbi dulchos volivorea. 
1st Sold. 'The general is content to spare thee yet’; 
And, hood-winked as thou art’, will lead thee on 
To gather news’ from thee ; perhaps’, thou may’st inform 
Something to save thy life’. 
Del. O, let me live’, 
And all the secrets of our camp V’ll show’; 
Their force’, their purposes’; nay I’ll speak that’, 
Which thou wilt wonder' at. 
Ist Sold. But wilt thou speak truly’? 
Del. If Ido not’, hang‘ me for a spy. 
Ist Sold. Acordo linta— 
Come on’, thou art granted space’. [Lait, with. Delgrado guarded, 
Ist Capt. D. Go’, tell Count Rozencrantz’, and my brother, 
We have caught the woodcock’, and will keep him muffled’, 
Till we do hear‘ from them. 
2d Sold. Captain’, I will’. 
Ist Ca apt. D. He will betray us all unto ourselves': 
Inform ’em that’. 
2d Sold. So I will’, sir. 
Ist Capt. D. Till then’ P’l keep him dark and safely locked’. 
[ Ewreunt. 


Scene. [I—The Florentine Camp. 
Enter Caprain Duman, his brother, and soldiers. 


Ist Capt. D. Shall we not have the Count to-night’? 
2d Capt. D. Yes, at the appointed hour’. 


: OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES, 167 
Ist Capt. D. That approaches apace’: I would gladly have him 
see his follower anatomized’, that he might take a measure of his 
own judgment, in which he hath set him so high’. 
2d Capt. D. We will not meddle’ with him till he come’, But 
here is his lordship now’. . 


s Enter Count RosENCRANTZ. 


Count R. Come, shall we have this dialogue between the fool and 
the soldier’? Bring forth this counterfeit model‘; he has decezved’ me, 
ike a double meaning prophesier'’. 

Ist Capt. D. Bring him forth’. [wewnt soldiers.] He has sat 
in the stocks’ all night‘, poor knave. . 

Count R. No matter’; his heels have deserved’ it, in usurping 
spurs\ so long. How does he carry‘ himself ? 

1st Capt. D. I have told your lordship already‘; the stocks carry 
him‘. But, to answer you as you would be understood’, he weeps 
like a sick wench’: he hath confessed himself to Morgan, whom he 
supposes to be a friar, from the time of his remembrance’, to the very 
instant of his setting in the stocks’. And what think you he has 
confessed‘? 

Count R. Nothing of me’, has’ he? 

2d Capi. D. His confession is taken’, and shall be read to his face’. 
If your lordship’ be in it, as I believe you are’, you must have the 
patience to hear‘ i ' 


Re-enter Soldiers, with DrELerapo. 


» Count R. A plague‘ upon him! muffled"! he can‘ say nothing of me’; 
hush"! hush"! ; 

2d Capt. D. Porto tartarossa. 

Ist Soid. He calis for tortures‘; what will you say without‘ them ? 

Del. Iwill confess what I know without constraint’; if ye pinch 
me like a pasty , I ean say no more’, ' “ 

Ist Sold. Bosko chimurcho. 

2d Capt. D. Boblibindo chicurmusco. 

Ist Sold. You are a merciful general’. Our general bids you an- 
swer to what I ask you out of a note’. 

Del. And truly", as I hope to live. | 

Ist Sold. [Reading.|. First demand of him’, how many horse the 
Duke is strong’. What say you to that‘? 

Del. Five or six thousand’, but very weak’ and unserviceable‘; the 
troops are all scattered’, and the commanders very poor rogues‘, upon 
my reputation and credit’, and as I hope to live’. 

Ist Sold. Shall I set down your answer so’? 

ae Do. [ll take my sacrament’ on’t, how and which way you 
will . 

Count R. All’s one to him‘. What a past-saving slave is this’! 

Ist Capt. D. You are deceived’, my lord’; this is Monsieur Del- 
grado, the gallant miitarist’ (that was his own phrase’,) that had the 
whole theory of war in the knot of his scarf’, and the practice in the 
sheath of his dagger’. 

2d Capt. D. Iwill never trust a man again’, for keeping his sword 
clean’; nor believe he can have every thing in him by wearing his 
apparel neatly’. 


~ 


» se 


1638 WGUFWEY’S RPETORICAL GUIDE 


st Sold. Well’, that’s’ se: down. 

Del. Five or six thousand horse’, I said—I will say true’ or there- 
abouts’: set down'—for Ill speak truth’, 

Count R. He is very near the truth‘ in this. 

Ist Capt. D. No thanks to him, though. 

Del. Poor rogues’, I pray you, Say. 

Ist Sold. Well’, that’s set down. 

Del. “I humbly thank‘ you, sir’: a truth’s a truth’; the rogues are 
marvelously poor’. 

Ist Sold. Demand of him’, of what strength they are afoot‘. What 
say you to that’? 

Del. By my troth‘, sir’ "e if I were to-live but this present hour’, I 
will tell true’. Let me see’; Spurio’, a hundred and fifty’; Sebastian’, 
so many’; Corambus’, so many; Cosmo’, Lodovick’ , and Gratii’, two 
hundred and fifty each’; mine own company’, Lammond’, Bentii,’ two 
hundred and fifty each’; so that the muster-file’, rotten’ and sound’, 
upon my life’, amounts not to fifteen thousand full’; half of which 
dare not shake the snow from off their cassocks’, lest they shake 
themselves‘ to pieces. . 

Count R. What shall be done‘ to him? 

Ist Capt. D. Nothing’, but let him have thanks’. Demand of him 


-my character‘, and what credit I have with the Duke’. 


Ist Sold. Well, that’s‘ set down. [Reading from anote.] You 
shall demand of jane’ , whether one Captain Dumain‘ be in the camp: 
what his reputation ts with the Duke‘, what his valor‘, honesty’, eapert- 
ness in wars; or whether he thinks it were possible, with well-weighed | 
sums of gold’, to corrupt him to a revolt’. What say you to this‘? What 
do you know‘ of it? 

Del. 1 beseech you let me answer to the particulars‘. Demand 
them singly’. 

ist Sold. Do you know’ this Captain Dumain? 

Del. Iknow’ him. He was a butcher’s apprentice in Paris‘, from 
whence he was whipped’ for some paltry theft’. 

[Dumain lifts up his hand to strike him. 

Count R. Nay‘, by your leave’, hold your hands‘; though I know’, 
his brains are forfeit to the next tile that falls". 

Ist Sold. Well’, is this captain in the Duke of Florence’s camp’? 

Del. Upon my knowledge he is’, and a mean’, dirty’ villain’. 

tst’ Capt,:..Di. [To Count R. ] Nay’ » look not 80 upon- me’; we 
shall hear of your lordship‘ anon. 

Ist Sold. What is his reputation’ with the Duke? 

Del. ‘The Duke knows him for no other but a , poor officer of mine’; 
and writ to me this other day’, to turn him out o’ the band‘. I think 
I have his letter in my pocket’. 

1st Sold. Marry‘, we’ll search’. 

Del. In good sadness’ , 1 do not know’: either it is there’, or it is 
upon file’, with the Duke’s other’ letters, in my tent’ 

Ist Sold. Here tis’; here’s a paper’; ; shall I read it to you’? 

Del. Ido not eee , if it be it’, or no’. 

Count R. Our interpreter’ does it well. 

Ist Capt. D. Excellently’. 

Ist Sold. [Reads.| The cownt’s a fool’, and full of gold’. 


i e 
Pee 
— 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 169 


' Del. That's not the Duke’s’ letter, sir; that is a notice’ to a certain 
person to take heed of one Cownt Rosencr ante’ 5a foolish’ , idle’ boy; 
for all that’, very knavish‘. Pray you’, sir’, put it up‘ again. 

Ist Sold. Nay‘, Pll read’ it first, by your favor. 

{ Reading] When he swears oaths’, bid him drop gold’, and take’ it; 
After he scores’, he never pays! the score: 
‘Half won’ is hiatoh well made‘; match’, and well make’ it. 
He ne’er pays after’ debts, take it before’ ° 
For count of this’, the count’s a fool’, 1 Anow'‘ it, 
Who pays before’, but not when he does owe’ it. 

Count f. He shall be whipped through the army’, with these 
rhymes on his forehead’. 

2d Capt. D. This’ is your devoted friend\, the learned linguist’ and 
the gallant soldier’. 

Cownt R. I could endure any thing before but a cad‘, and now he’s 
a cat‘ to me. 

Ist Sold. I perceive’, sir’, by the general’s looks’, we shall be fain 
to hang‘ you. 

Del. My life’, sir’, in any ease: not that lam afraid to die; but 
that my offenses being many’, 1 would repent out the remainder of my 
nature’. Let me dive’, sir’, in a dungeon’, in the stocks‘, or any’ where, 
so I may dive’. 

1st Sold. We'll see what may be done’, so you confess‘ freely ; there- 
fore once more to this Captain Dumain'’. You have answered to his 
reputation with the duke’, and to his valor’. What is his honesty"? 

Del. He will steal’, sir, an eee out of a cloister‘. He pretends’ 
not to keep oaths’, but in breaking’ them is stronger than Hercules’. 
He will Le’, sir, with such volubility’ , that you would think truth were 
a fool’: drunkenness! is his best virtue’. 1 have but little more to Say, 
sir, of his honesty’: he has every thing’ that an honest man should not’ 
have; what an honest man should’ have, he has nothing" 

Count R. Hang‘ him. He is more and more a cat’. 

Ist Sold. His qualities being at this poor price’, I need not ask 
you if gold will corrupt him to revolt. 

Del. Sir, for the fourth part of a French crown, he will sell the 
fee-simple of his salvation’, the inheritance’ of it, and cut the entail 
from all remainders‘. 

1st Sold. What’s his brother‘, the other‘ Captain Dumain. 

2nd Capt. D. Why does he ask of me’? - 

Ist Sold. What's he‘? 

Del. Een a crow of the same nest’; not altogether so great as the 
other in goodness’, but greater a great deal in evil’. He excels his 
brother for a coward’ , yet his brother is reputed one of the best that 
is’: ina retreat’, he outruns a lackey’; marry’, in coming on’ he has 
the cramp’. 

Ist Sold. If your life is saved’, will you undertake to betray your 
friends’? 

Del. Aye’, the captain of their horse, Count Rozencrantz’, and all’ 
of them. 

Ist Sold. Til whisper with the general and know his pleasure’. 

Del. Pil no more drumming‘; a plague’ of all drums. Only to 
seem’ to deserve well, and to get the good opinion of that foolish young 


15 


% 


170 M'’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE. 
boy’, the count, have I run into this‘ danger. Yet who would have 
suspected an ambush where I was taken’. [ .Astde. 
Ist Sold. ‘There is no-remedy’, sir’, but you must die‘. The gen- 
eral says’, you’, that have so traitorously discovered the secrets of 
your army’, and made such villainous reports of men in high estima- 
tion’, can serve the world for no honest use’; therefore you must die’. 
Come’, headsman’, off with his head’. 
Del. O lord’, sir’, let me live’, or let me see my death’! 
1st Sold. ‘That you shall’, and take your leave of all your friends . 
[Unmuffling him. 
So’, look about‘ you; know you any here’? 
Count R. Good-morrow’, noble captain’. 
2d Cupt. D. God bless‘ you, Captain Delgrado . 


i 
: 
HE 


1st Capt. D. God save‘ you, noble captain’. 
i 2d Capt. D. What greeting will you to my lord Lafeu‘, I’m for 
. France’. 
i Ist Cupt. D. Good captain’, will you give me a copy of your son- 
i net’? If I were not a very céward, I’d compeli it of you; but fare- 
: you-well’, [Exeunt Count R., Capt. D. and brother. 
i Ist Sold. You are undone’, captain’; all but yourscarf", that‘ has a 
! Jonot! on’t yet’. 
| Del. Who cannot be crushed with a plot‘? 
i Ist Sold. Vm for France, too’: farewell’, we shall speak of you 
; there’. : [ Exit. 
| Del. Yet Iam thankful‘. If my heart were great, 
‘ *T would burst’ at this’. Captain’ Vll be no more’; 
But I will eat’, and drink’, and sleep as soft’ 
_  ™ As captain’ shall; simply the thing I am’ 


| 
. 
| 


Shall make me ve’. Who knows himself a braggart! 

Let him fear this’. 

Rust‘, sword’! cool’, blushes’! and, Delgrado’, live 

Safest in shame"! being fooled’, by foolery thrive’! 

There’s place and means’ for every man alive’. [Eeit. 
SHAKSPEARE. 


PART THIRD 


Ty this Part, a rhetorical notation is but sparingly introduced, as it is believ- 
ed that the pupil may now, with advantage to himself, rely upon his own 
judgment, with such aid as the teacher may think it judicious to give. 


LESSON LXIX. * 


COLLOQUIAL POWERS OF DOCTOR FRANKLIN. 


Never have I known such a fireside companion. Great as he 
was both as a statesman and philosopher, he never shone in a 
light more winning, than when he was seen in a domestic circle. 
It was once my good fortune to pass two or three weeks with 
him, at the house of a private gentleman, in the back part of 
Pennsylvania, and we were confined to the house during the 
whole of that time, by the unintermitting constancy and depth 
of the snows. But confinement could never be felt where Frank- 
lin was an inmate. His cheerfulness and his colloquial powers 
spread around him a perpetual spring. 

When I speak, however, of his colloquial powers, I do not 
mean to awaken any notion analogous to that which Boswell has 
given us of Johnson. ‘The conversation of the latter, continu- 
ally reminds one of the “pomp and circumstance of glorious 
war.’ It was, indeed, a perpetual contest for victory, or an ar- 
bitrary or despotic exaction of homage to his superior talents. 
It was strong, acute, prompt, splendid, and vociferous; as loud, 
stormy, and sublime,as those winds which he represents as shak- 
ing the Hebrides, and rocking the old castle which frowned on 
the dark rolling sea beneath. 

But one gets tired of storms, however sublime they may be, 
and longs for the more orderly current of nature. Of Franklin, 
no one ever became tired. ‘There was no ambition of eloquence 
no effort to shine in anything which came from him. There was 
nothing which made any demand upon either your allegiance or 
your admiration. His manner was as unaffected as infancy. It 
was nature’s self. He talked like an old patriarch ; and his plain 
ness and simplicity put you at once at your ease, and gave you 
the full and free possession and use of your faculties. His 
thoughts were of a character to shine by their own light, with- 
out any adventitious aid. ‘They only required a medium of vi- 
sion like his pure and simple style, to exhibit to the highest ad- 


vantage their native radiance and beauty. 
17] 


Re ; 
a 172 : MGUFFEY'S RHETCRICAL GUIDE 


His cheerfulness was unremitting. It seemed to be as much 
the effect of a systematic and salutary exercise of the mind, as of 
its superior organization His wit was of the first order. It did 
not show itself merely in occasional corruscations; but without 
any effort or force on his part. It shed a constant stream of the 
purest light over the whole of his discourse. Whether in the 
company of commons or nobles, he was always the same plain 
man ; always most perfectly at his ease, with his faculties im full 
play, and the full orbit of his genius forever clear and uncloud-» 
ed. And then, the stores of his mind were inexhaustible. He 
had commenced life with an attention so vigilant, that nothing had 

escaped his observation ; and a judgment so solid, that every in- 
cident was turned to advantage. His youth had not been wasted 
in idleness, nor overcast by intemperance. He had been, all his. 
_life, a close and deep reader, as well as thinker; and by-the force 
of his own powers, had wrought up the raw materials which he 
had gathered from books, with such exquisite skill and felicity, 
‘that he had added a hundred-fold to their original value, and 
_ justly made them his own.—Winrr: 


, LESSON LXX. 
THE SICK SCHOLAR. 


{ Swortiy after the schoolmaster had arranged the forms and 
taken his seat behind his desk, a small white-headed boy witha 
sun-burnt face, appeared at the door, and stopping there to make 
a rustic bow, came in and took his seat upon one of the forms. 
He then put an open book, astonishingly dog’s-eared, upon his 
knees, and thrusting his hands into his pockets, began counting 
‘the marbles with which they were filled; displaying, in the ex- 
pression of his face, a remarkable capacity of totally abstracting 
his mind from the spelling on which his eyes were fixed. J.Soon 
afterwards, another whité-headed little boy came straggling in, 
and after him, a red-headed lad, and then, one with a flaxen poll, 
- until the forms were cecupied by a dozen boy s, or thereabouts, 
with heads of every color but gray, and ranging in their ages 
b 
| 


from four years old to fourteen years or more; ‘for the legs of 
the youngest were a long way from the floor, when he sat upon 
the form ; and the eldest was a heavy, good-tempered fellow, 
about a half a head taller than the schoolmaster. 
- At the top of the first form—the post of honor in the school— 
was the vacant place of the little sick scholar; and, at the head 
_ of the row of pegs on which those who wore hats or caps were 
- wont to hang them, one was empty. No bey attem pted. to v10- 
ae eS * 
. =i ~ 


a 


- 
—— 
< 


: OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES, 173 es 


late the sanctity of seat or peg, but many a one looked from the 
empty spaces to the schoolmaster, and whispered to his idle 
neighbor, behind his hand. | 

Then began the hum of conning over lessons and getting 
them by heart, the whispered jest and stealthy game, and all the 
noise and drawl of school ;- and in the midst of the din sat the 
poor schoolmaster, vainly attempting to fix his mind upon the 
duties of the day, and to forget his little sick friend. But the 
‘tedium of his office reminded him more’ strongly of the willing 
scholar, and his thoughts were rambling from his pupils—it was 
plain. | 

None knew this better than the idlest boys, who, growing 
bolder with impunity, waxed louder and more daring ; playing 
«‘odd-or-even”’ under the master’s eye; eating apples openly 
and without rebuke; pinching each other, in sport or malice, 
without the least reserve; and cutting their initials in the very — 
legs of his desk. ‘he puzzled dunce, who stood beside it to 
say his lesson “off the book,’”’ looked no longer at the ceiling for 
forgotten words, but drew closer to the master’s elbow, and bold-» 
ly cast his eve upon the page; the wag of the little troop squint- 
ed and made grimaces (at the smallest boy, of course), holding 
no book before his face, and<his approving companions knew no 
constraint in their delight. If the master did chance to rouse 
himself, and seem alive to‘what was going on, the noise subsided 
for a moment, and.no eye met his, but wore a studious and deep- 
ly humble look; but the instant he relapsed again, it broke out 
afresh, and ten times louder than before. 

Oh! how some of those idle fellows longed to be outside, and 
how they looked at the open door and window, as if they half 
meditated-rushing violently out, plunging into the woods, and 
being wild boys and savages from that time forth. What rebel- 
lious thoughts of the cool river, and some shady bathing-place, 
beneath willow trees with branches dipping in the water, kept 
tempting and urging that sturdy boy, who, with his shirt-collar 

‘unbuttoned, and flung back as far as it could go, sat fanning his 
flushed face with a spelling-book, wishing himself a whale, or a 
minnow, or a fly, or any thing but a boy at school, on that hot, 
broiline-day. ; 

* Heat! ask that other boy, whose seat being nearest to the 
door, gave him opportunities of gliding out into the garden, and 
driving his companions to madness, by dipping his face into the 
bucket of the well, and then rolling on the grass,—ask him, if 
there was ever such a day as that, when even the bees were 
diving deep down into the cups of the flowers, and stopping 
there, as if they had made up their minds to retire from business, | 
: ane a ee cpinets of honey no more. ‘The day was made ore 


«" +e 
w 
~ 


' 
t 
j 
; 
{ 
t 
t 


174 M’GUFFEY’S, RHETORICAL GUIDE 


for laziness, and lying on one’s back in green places, and staring 
at the sky, till its brightness forced the gazer to shut his eyes 
and go to sleep. And was this a time to be poring over musty 
books in a dark room, slighted by the very sun itself? Monstrous! 
The lessons over, writing time began. This was a more quiet 
time; for the master would come and look over the writer’s 
shoulder, and mildly tell him to observe how such a letter was 
turned up, in such a copy on the wall, which had been written 
by their sick companion, and bid him take it as a model. 'Then™ 
he would stop and tell them what the sick child had said last 
night, and how he had longed to be among them once again; and 
such was the poor schoolmaster’s gentle and affectionate man- 
ner, that the boys seemed quite remorseful that they had wor- 
ried him so much, and were absolutely quiet—eating no apples, 


cutting novnames, and making no grimaces for full two minutes 


afterwards. 

‘‘T think, boys,”’ said the schoolmaster, when the clock struck 
twelve, “that I shall give you an extra half-holyday this after- 
noon.” At this intelligence, the boys, led on and headed by the 
iall boy, raised a great shout, in the midst of which the master 
was seen to speak, but could not be heard. As he held up his 
hand, however, in token of his wish that they should be silent, 
they were considerate enough to leave off, as soon as the longest- 
winded among them were quite out of breath. ‘You must 
promise me, first,’’ said the schoolmaster, “that you ’ll not be 
noisy, or, at least, if you are, that youll go away first, out of 
the village, I mean—I’m sure you would n’t disturb your old 
playmate and companion.”’ 

There was a general murmur (and perhaps a very sincere 
one, for they were but boys) in the negative; and the tall boy, 
perhaps as sincerely as any of them, called those about him to 
witness, that he had only shouted ina whisper. ‘Then pray 
do n’t forget, there ’s my dear scholars,’’ said the schoolmaster, 
‘‘ what I have asked you, and do it as a favor to me. Be as 
happy as you can, and don’t be unmindful that you are blessed 
with health. Good by, all!’ 

‘Thank ’ee, sir,’’ and ‘“‘ Good by, sir,” were said a great 
many times in a variety of voices, and the boys went out very 
slowly and softly. But there was the sun shining, and there 
were the birds singing, as the sun only shines, and the birds only 
sing, on holydays and half-holydays ; there were the trees waving 
to all free boys, to climb and nestle among their leafy branches ; 
the hay,entreating them to come and scatter it to the pure air ; 
the green corn, gently beckoning tewards wood and stream; the 
smooth ground, rendered smoother still by blending lights and 
shadows, inviting to runs, and leaps, and long walks, nobody 


OF THE ECLECTIC°SERIES. 175 


knows whither. It was. more than boy could bear, and with a 
joyous whoop, the whole cluster took to their heels, and spread 
themselves about, shouting and laughing as they went. «Tis 
natural, thank Heaven!’’ said the poor schoolmaster, looking 
after them: ‘‘Il am very glad. they didn’t mind me.” * * * 

Towards night, the schoolmaster walked over to the cottage 
where his little friend lay sick. Knocking gently at the cottage 
door, it was cpened without loss of time. He entered a room 
where a group of women were gathered about one who was 
wringing her hands and erying bitterly. ‘*Oh dame!” said the 
schoolmaster, drawing near her chair, “is it so bad as this ?2”’ 
Without replying, she pointed to another room, which the school- 
master immediately entered ; and there lay his little friend, half- 
dressed, stretched upon a bed. % 

He was a very-young boy; quite a little child. His hair still 
hung in curls about his face, and his eyes were very bright; but 
their light was of heaven, not of earth. The achpalenaees iook 
a seat beside him, and stooping over the pillow, whispered~his 
name. ‘The boy sprung up, stroked his face with his hand, and 
threw his wasted arms around his neck, crying, that he was his 
dear, kind friend. “I hope I always was. I meant to be, God 
knows,” said the poor schoolmaster. “ You remember my gar- 
den, Henry ?”’ whispered the old man, anxious to rouse him, for 
a duliness seemed gathering upon the child, “and how pleasant 
it used to be in the evening-time? You must make haste to vis- 
it it again, for I think the very flowers have missed you, and are 
less gay than they used to be. You will come soon, very soon 
now, won’t you 2” 

The bey smiled faintly—so very, very faintly—and put his 
hand upon his friend’s gray head. He moved his lips too, but 
no voice came from them, no, not asound. In the-:silence that 
ensued, the hum of distant voices borne upon the’ evening air, 
came floating through the open window. ‘“What’s that?’ said 
the sick child, opening his eyes. ‘*’The boys at play, upon the 
green.’ He took a handkerchief from his pillow, and tried to 
wave it above his head. But the feeble arm dropped power- 
less down. “Shall I do it?’ said the schoolmaster. ‘Please 
wave it at the window,” was the faint reply. ‘Tie it to the lat- 
tice, Some of them may see it’ there. Perhaps they ’l think 
of re, and look this way.’ 

He raised his head and glanced from the fluttering signal to 
his idle bat, that lay, with slate,and book,and other boy ish prop- 
erty, upon the table in the room. And then he laid him softly 
down once more ; and again clasped his little arms around the old 
man’s neck. The two old friends and companions—for such 
_ they were, though they were man and child—held each other in 


, - 


a 


———_ _—_—_ --” 


176 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


a long embrace, and then the little scholar turned his face to the 


wall and fell asleep. 


The poor schoolmaster sat in the same place, holding the 
small, cold hand in his, and chafing it. It was but the hand ofa 
dead child. He felt that; and yet he chafed it still, _ could 
not lay it down. —Dickens. 


os » 


LESSON LXXI. 
THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS. 


Turre is a Reaper, whose name is Death, 


y, And, with his sickle keen, 


He reaps the bearded grain at a breath, 
And the flowers that grow between. 


‘* Shall I have nought that is fair?”’ saith he; 
‘Have nought but the bearded grain ? 

Though the breath of these flowers i is sweet to me, 
I will give them all back again.” 


He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes, 
He kiss’d their drooping leaves; 

It was for the Lord of Paradise, 
He bound them in his sheaves. _ 


‘‘ My Lord has need of these flowerets gay,” 
The Reaper said, and smiled ; 
“Dear tokens of the earth are they, 
% Where he was once a child. 


“‘’They shall all bloom in the fields of light, 
‘Transplanted by my care, 

And saints, upon their garments white, 
These sacred blossoms wear.”’ 


And the mother gave, in tears and pain, 
‘The flowers she most did love; 

She knew she should find them all again, 
In the fields of light above. 


O, not in cruelty, not in wrath, 
The Reaper came that day; 
"T'was an angel visited the green earth, 
And took the flowers away.—LoneFreLLow. 


& 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 177 


LESSON LXXIT. 
SPRING. 


Tue Spring—she is a blessed thing! 
She is mother of the flowers ; 

She is the mate of birds and bees, 

The partner of their revelries, 

Our star of hope through wintry hours. 


The merry children, when they see - 
Her coming, by the budding thorn, sh ‘ 
They leap upon the cottage floor, 

They shout beside the cottage door, 

And run to meet her night and morn. 


They are soonest with her in the woods, 
Peeping the withered leaves among, 

To find the earliest fragrant thing 

That dares from the cold earth to spring, 
Or catch the earliest wild-bird’s song. 


The little brooks run on in light, 

As if they had a chase of mirth ; 

The skies are blue, the air is warm, 
Our very hearts have caught the charm 
That sheds a beauty o’er the earth. 


The aged man is in the field; _ 
The maiden ’mong her garden flowers ; 
The sons of sorrow and distress 
Are wandering in forgetfulness i 
Of wants that fret, and care that lowers. 


She comes with more than present good, 
With joys to store for future years, 
From which, in striving crowds apart, 
The bowed in spirit, bruised in heart, 
May glean up hope with grateful tears 


Up—let us to the fields away, 
And breathe the fresh and balmy air; 
The bird is building in the tree, 
The flower has opened to the bee, 
And health, and love, and peace are there. 
Mary Howirr. 


178 ‘M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


LESSON LXXII. 


MAY-DAY CAROL. 


Queen of fresh flowers, 
Whom vernal stars obey, 
Bring the warm showers, 
Bring thy genial ray. 
In nature’s greenest livery drest, 
Descend on earth’s expectant breast, 
To earth and heaven a welcome guest, 
‘Thou merry month of May! 


Mark, how we meet thee * 
At dawn of dewy day! 
Hark ! how we greet thee 
With our roundelay! __ 
While all the goodly things that be, 
In earth, and air, and ample sea, 
Are waking up to welcome thee, 
Thou merry month of May! 


Flocks on the mountains, 
And birds upon their spray, 
Tree, turf, and fountains, 
All hold holyday. 
And love, the life of living things, 
Love waves his torch, love claps his wings, 
And loud and wide thy praises sings, 
Thou merry month of May !—Hezsgrr. 


LESSON LXXIV. 
THE MOON AND STARS.—A FABLE. 


On the fourth day of creation, when the sun, after a glori- 
ous, but solitary course, went down in the evening, and darkness 
began to gather over the face of the uninhabited globe, already ar- 
rayed in the exuberance of vegetation, and prepared by the di- 
versity of land and water, for the abode of uncreated animals and 
man,—a star, single and beautiful, stepped forth into the firma- 
ment. ‘Lrembling with wonder and delight in new-found exist- 
ence, she looked abroad, and beheld nothing in heaven or on 
earth resembling herself. But she was not long alone; now one, 
then another, here a third, and there a fourth resplendent com- 
panion had joined her, till light after light stealing through the 
gloom, in the lapse of an hour the whole hemisphere was bril- 
liantly bespangled. | 


~~ ” 


# 


“OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 179 


The planets and stars, with a superb comet, flaming in the ze- 
nith, for a while contemplated themselves and each other; and 
every one, from the largest to the least, was so perfectly well 
pleased with himself, that he imagined the rest only partakers of 
his felicity; he being the central luminary of his own universe, 
and all the hosts of heaven beside, displayed around him, in grad- 
uated splendor. Nor were any undeceived in regard to them- 
selves, though all saw their associafes in their real situations and 
relative proportions ;—self-knowledge being the last knowledge 
acquired either in the sky or below it;—till bending over the 
ocean in their turns, they discovered what they supposed at first 
to be anew heaven, peopled with beings of theirown species. But 
when they perceived farther, that no sooner had any one of their 
company touched the horizon than’ he instantly disappeared ; 
they then recognized themselves in their individual forms, reflect- 
ed beneath according to their places and configurations above, 
from seeing others, whom they previously knew, reflected in like 
manner. ; 

By an attentive but mournful self-examination in that mirror, 
they slowly learned humility ; but every one learned it only for 
himself, none believing what others insinuated respecting their 
own inferiority, till they reached the western slope, from whence 
they could identify their true visages in the nether element. Nor 
was this very surprising; stars being only visible points, without 
any distinction of limbs, each was all eye; and though he could 
see others most correctly, he could neither see himself nor any 
part of himself, till he came to reflection. ‘The comet, however, 
having a long train of brightness, streaming sun-ward, could re- 
view that, and did review it with ineffable self-complacency. 
Indeed, after all pretensions to precedence, he was at length 
acknowledged king of the hemisphere, if not by the universal 
assent, by the silent envy of all his rivals. 

But the object which attracted most attention, and astonish- 
ment too, was a slender thread of light that scarcely could be 
discerned through the blush of evening, and vanished soon after 
night-fall, as if ashamed to appear in so scanty a form, like an 
unfinished work of creation. It was the moon—the first new 
moon. ‘Timidly,she looked around upon the glittering multitude 
that crowded the dark serenity of space, and filled it with life 
and beauty. Minute indeed they seemed to her, but perfect in 
symmetry, and formed to shine forever; while she was unshapen, 
incomplete, and-evanescent. In her humility, she was glad to 
hide herself from their keen glances in the friendly bosom of the 
ocean, wishing for immediate extinction. 

When she was gone, the stars looked one at another with in- 
quisitive surprise, as much as to say, “*What a figure!” It was 


Fat 
al ; . 
180 M’GUFFEY'S RHETORICAL coe ; 


» 

so evident that they all thought alike, and thought contemptu- 
ously of the apparition, (though at first they almost doubted 
whether they should not be frightened,) that they soon began to 
talk freely concerning her; of course, not with audible accents, 
but in the language of intelligent sparkles, in which stars are ae- 
customed to converse with telegraphic precision from one end of 
heaven to the other, and which no dialect on earth so nearly re- 
sembles, as the langue the eyes,—the only one, probably, 
that has survived in its apse not only the confusion of Babel, 
but the revolutions of all ages.’ Her crooked form and her shy- 
ness, were ridiculed and censured from pole to pole. - For what 
purpose such a monster could have beeu.created, not the wisest 
could conjecture ; yet, to tell the truth, every one, though glad to 
be countenanced in the affectation of scorn by the rest, had se- 
cret misgivings concerning the stranger, and envied the delicate 
brillianey of her light. 

All the gay company, however, quickly returned to the’ admi- 
ration of themselves, and the inspection of each other. 'Thus,the 
first night passed away. But,when the east began to dawn, con- 
sternation seized the whole army of celestials, each feeling him- 
self fainting into invisibility, and—as he feared—into nothing- 
Ness, while his neighbors were, one after another, totally disap- 
pearing. At length, the sun arose, and’ filled the heavens, and 


clothed the earth with his slory. How he spent that day, be- 


longs not to this history; but it is elsewhere recorded, that, for 
the first time from eternity, the lark, on the wings of the morn- 
ing, Sprang up to salute him; the eagle, at noon, looked undaz- 
zled on his splendor ; and when he went down beyond the deep, 
the leviathan was sporting amidst the multitude of waves. 
MONTGOMERY. 


LESSON LXXV. 
THE SAME.->—-CONCLUDED. 


In the evening, the vanished constellations again gradually 
awoke; and,on opening their eyes, were so rejoiced at meeting 
together,——not one being wanting of last night’s levee,—that they 
were in the highest good humor with themselves and’ one anoth- 


-er. Decked in all their beams, and darting their benignest in- 


fluence, they exchanged smiles and endearments, and made vows 
of affection eternal and unchangeable ; while, from this nether orb, 
the song of the nightingale arose out of darkness, and charmed 
even the stars in their courses, being the first sound, except the 
roar of the ocean, that they had ever heard. ‘The music of the 
spheres’’ may be traced to the rapture of that hour. - 


a UP THE ECLECTIC SERIES, 181 

The little, gleaming horn was again discerned, leaning back- 
ward over the western hills. ‘This companionless luminary, 
they thought—but they must be mistaken—it could not be—and 
yet they were afraid that it wasso—appeared somewhat _ larger 
than on the former occasion.- But the moon, still only venturing 
to glance at this scene of magnificence, escaped beneath the hori- 
zon, leaving the comet in proud possession of the sky. 

On the third evening, the moon wale obviously increased in 
size and splendor, and stood so much higher-in the firmament 
than at first, though she still hastened out of sight, that she was 
the sole subject of conversation on both sides of the galaxy, till 
the breeze that awakened newly-created man from his first slum- 
ber in paradise, warned the stars to retire; and the sun, with a 
pomp never witnessed in our degenerate days, ushered in the 
great Sabbath of creation, when “the heaven and the earth were 
finished, and all the hosts of them.’’ 

The following night, the moon took her station still higher, 
and looked brighter than before. Still, however, she preserved 
her humility and shame-facedness; till her crescent had exceeded 
the first quarter. -Hitherto she had only grown lovelier, but now 
she grew prouder at every step of her preferment. Her rays, 
too, became so intolerably dazzling, that fewer and fewer of the 
stars could endure her presence, but shrouded themselves in 
her light as behind avail. When she verged to maturity, the 
heavens: seemed too small for her ambition. She ‘rose in cloud- 
ed majesty,’’ but the clouds melted at her approach, or spread 
their rich and rainbow-tinted garments in her path. 


She had crossed the comet in her course, and left him as wan 


as a vapor behind her. On the night of her fullness, she tri- 
umphed gloriously in mid heaven, smiled on the earth, and ar- 


rayed it in a softer day; for she had repeatedly seen the sun, | 


and though she could not.rival him when he was above the hori- 
zon, she fondly hoped to make his absence forgotten. Over the 
ocean she hung, enamored of her own beauty reflected in the 
abyss. The few stars that still could stand amidst her over- 
powering effulgence, converged their rays, and shrunk into bluer 
depths of ether, to gaze at a safe distance upon her. “ What 
more can she be?” thought these scattered survivors of myriads 
of extinguished sparklers; ‘as hitherto she has increased every 
evening, to-morrow she will do the same; and we must be lost, 
like our brethren, in her all-conquering resplendence.”’ 

The moon herself was not-a little puzzled to imagine what 
might become of her; but vanity readily suggested, that although 
she had reached her full form, she had not reached her full size; 
consequently, by a regular nightly expansion of circumference 
she would finally cover the whole convexity of the sky, not only 


182° M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


Ss - 
to the exclusion of stars, but. of the sun himself, since he occu- 
pied a ‘superior region of space, and certainly could not shine 
through her; till man, and his beautiful companion woman, look- 
ing upward from the bowers of Eden, would see all moon above 
them, and walk in the light of her countenance forever. 

In the midst of this pleasing self-illusion, a film crept upon 
her, which spread from her utmost verge, athwart her center, till 
it had completely eclipsed her visage, and made her a blot on the 
tablet of the heavens. In the progress of this disaster, the stars, 
- which were hid in her pomp, stole forth to witness her humilia- 
tion. But their transport and her shame, lasted not long; the 
shadow retired as gradually as it had advanced, leaving her fairer 

by contrast than before. “Soon afterwards, the day broke, and 
’ she withdrew, marveling what would next befall her. 

Never had the stars been more impatient to resume their pla- 
ces, nor the moon more impatient to rise, than on the following 
evening. With tembling hope and fear, the planets that came 
out first after sunset, espied her disk, broad and dark red, emerg- 
ing from a gulf of clouds in the east. At the first glance, their 
keen, celestial sight discovered that her western limb was a little 
contracted, and her orb no longer perfect. She herself was too 
much elated to suspect any failing, and fondly imagined that she 
had continued to increase all round, till she had got above the 
Pacific; but even then, she was only chagrined to perceive, that 
her image was no larger than it had been last night. There was 
not a star in the horoscope—no, not the comet himself—durst 
tell her she was less. 

Another day went, and another night came. She rose as usu- 
al, a little later. Eiven while she traveled above the land, she 
was haunted with the idea, that her luster was rather feebler than 
it had been; but when she beheld her face in the sea, she could 
no longer overlook the unwelcome defect. The season was bois- 
terous; the wind rose suddenly, and the waves burst into foam; 
perhaps the tide, for the first time, was then affected by sympa- 
thy with the moon; and what had never happened before, an 
universal tempest, mingled heaven and earth in rain, and light- 
ning, and darkness. She plunged among the thickest of the 
thunder-clouds, and in the confusion that hid her disgrace, her 
exulting rivals were all likewise put out of countenance. 

On the next evening, and every evening afterwards, the moon 
came forth later, and less, and dimmer; while on each occasion, 
more and more of the minor stars, which had formerly vanished 
from her eye, re-appeared to witness her fading honors and dis- 
figured form. Prosperity had made her vain; adversity brought 
her to her mind again, and humility soon compensated the loss 
of glaring distinction, with softer charms, which won the regard 


a 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES, —-183 


which haughtiness had repelled; for when she had worn off her 
uncouth gibbous aspect, and, through the last quarter, her profile 
waned into a hollow shell, she appeared more graceful than ever 
in the eyes of all heaven. When she was originally seen among 
» them, the stars contemned her ; afterwards, as she grew in beau- 
ty, they envied, feared, hated, and finally fled from her. As she 
relapsed into insignificance, they first rejoiced in her decay, and 
then endured her superiority, because it could not last long; but 
when they marked how she had wasted away every time they 
met, compassion succeeded, and, on the last three nights, (like a 
human fair one, in the latest stages of decline, growing lovelier, 
.and dearer to her friends till the close,) she disarmed hostility, 
conciliated kindness, and secured affection; she was admired, 
beloved, and unenvied by all. 

At length,there came a night when there was no moon. ‘There 
was silence in heaven all that night. In serene meditation on 
the changes of the month, the stars pursued their journey from 
sunset to day-break. The comet had, likewise, departed into 
unknown regions. Lis fading lustre had been attributed, at first, 
to the bolder radiance of the moon in her meridian; but,during 
her wane, while inferior luminaries were brightening around her, 
he was growing fainter and smaller every evening, and now,he 
was no more. Of the rest, planets and stars, all were unimpaired 
in their light, and the former only slightly varied in their posi- 
tions. The whole multitude, wiser by experience, and better for 
their knowledge, were humble, contented, and grateful, each for 
his lot, whether splendid or obscure. 

Next evening, to the joy and astonishment of all, the moon, 
with a new crescent, was descried in the west; and instantly, 
from every quarter of the heavens, she was congratulated on her 
happy resurrection. Just as she went down, while her bow was - 
yet recumbent in the dark purple horizon, it is said that an an- 

. gel appeared, standing between her horns. ‘Turning his head, 
his eye glanced rapidly over the universe; the sun far sunk be- 
hind him, the moon under his feet, the earth spread in prospect 
before hit, and the firmament all glittering with constellations 
above. He paused a moment, and then in that tongue, wherein, 
at the accomplishment of creation, “the morning stars sang to- 
gether, and all the sons of God shouted for joy,’’ he thus brake 
forth: ‘*Great and marvelous are thy works, Lord God Al- 
mighty! In wisdom hast thou made them all. Who would not 
fear thee, O Lord, and glorify thy name, for thou only art holy!” 
fle ceased,—and from that hour there has been harmony in 
heaven.— MontTcomeEry. 


eee LS Oe 


{84 


M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


LESSON LXXVI. 
SUMMER EVENING. 


Tue summer day lras closed—the sun is set: 
Well have they done their office, those bright hours, 
The latest of whose train goes softly out 
In the red west. ‘The green blade of the ground 
Has risen, and herds have cropped it; the young twig 
Has spread its plaited tissues to the sun; 
Flowers of the garden and the waste have blown, 
And withered; seeds have fallen upon the soil 
From bursting eelis, and, in their graves,await 
‘Their resurrection. 

Insects'from the pools 
Have filled the air awhile with humming wings, 
That now are still forever; painted moths 
Have wandered the blue sky, and died again; 
The mother-bird hath broken for her brood 
‘Their prison-shells, or shoved them from their nest, 
Plumed for their earliest flight. 


In bright alcoves, 
In mootiand cottages with | earthy walls, 
In noisome cells of the tumultuous town, 
Mothers have clasped with joy the new-born babe. 
Graves by the lonely forest, by the shore 
Of rivers and of ocean, by the ways 
Of the thronged city, have been hollowed out, 
And filled, and closed. ‘This day hath parted friends, 
That ne’er before were parted; it hath knit 
New friendships; it hath seen the maiden plight 
Her faith, and trust her peace to him who long 
Hath wooed ; and it hath heard, from lips which late wa 


Were eloquent of love, the first ‘ard word, 


That told the wedded one her peace was flown. 


Farewell to the sweet sunshine! one glad day 


- Is added now to childhood’s merry days, 


And one calm day to those of quiet age ; 

Still the fleet hours run on; and,as I lean 

Arid the thickening darkness, lamps are lit 

By those who wateh the dead, and those who twine 

Flowers for the bride. The mother from the eyes 

Of her sick infant shades the painful light, 

And sadly listens to his quick-drawn breath.—W. C. Bryant 


* 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES IRA. 


- LESSON LXXVIL 
THE SNOW-FLAKE. 


“ Now if I fall, will it be my lot 

To be cast in some low and cruel spot? 

Tc melt or sink unseen or forgot ? ol " 
And then will my course be ended 1” 

"Twas thus a feathery Snow-Flake said, 

_As down through the measureless space it strayed, 

Or, as half by dalliance, half afraid, 
It seemed in mid air suspended. 


“Oh, no,” said the Harth, ‘*thou shalt not lie, 

Neglected and lone, on my lap to die, | 

Thou fine and delicate child of the sky: 
For thou wilt be safe in my keeping ;— | 

But then, I must give thee a lovlier form ; 

Thou’lt not be a part of the wintry storm, 

But revive when the sun-beams are yellow and warm, 

— And the flowers from my bosom are peeping ; 


Seok’ then thon shalt have thy choice to be 
Restored in the lily that decks the lea, 
In the je essamin bloom, the anemone, 
Oraught of thy spotless whiteness; ae 
* To melt and be cast in a littering bead, AEN 3 
With the pearls that nicht scatters over ‘the mead, we 
» {nthe cup where the bee and the fire- -fly feed, 
_ ‘Regaining thy dazzling brightness; 


rr To wake, and be raised from th y transient sleep, 

Where Viola’g mild blue eye shail weep ; 

Th a tremulous tear or a diamond, leap 

- Ina drop from the unlocked fountain; 

Or-leaving the valley, the meadow, and heath, 

_ The streamlet, the flowers, and all bemeash. / ce 

“To go and be worn in the silvery wreath, 
ss Eneircling the brow of the mountain. 


+ 


ee 


Dy wouldst thot: return toa homeri in the skies, 
_~ To shine in the Itis,* Ill lct thee arise, 
5 And appear in the many and glorious dyes; 
“. A pencil of sun-beams is “blending. 
But true, fair thing, as my name is Earth, 
I *ll give thee a new and vernal birth, 
| When thow shalt recover thy primal worth, ; 
=" And never regret descending.” ae 3 


_** Then I will drop, ? said the trusting Flake; ; 
‘“¢ But bear it in mind, that the choice J rhakes 
Is not in the fowers nor the dew to awake, o> ; | 


* The rainbow. 


ee i 


186 M’GUFFEY'S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


Nor the mist that shall pass with the morning: 
For things of thyself, they expire with thee ; 
But those that are lent from on high, like me, 
They rise, and will live, from thy dust set free, 

To the regions above returning. 


‘¢ And if ‘true to thy word, and just thou art, 
Like the spirit that dwells in the holiest heart, 
Unsullied by thee, thou. wilt let me depart, 
And return to my native heaven ; 
For I would be placed in the beautiful bow, 
From time to time in thy sight to glow, 
So thou may’st remember the Flake of Snow, 
By the promise that God hath given.”—Miss Goutp. 


LESSON LXX VIII. 
IMPEACHMENT OF WARREN HASTINGS. 


Tue place in which the impeachment of Warren Hastings 
was conducted, was worthy of such a trial.. It was the great 
hall of Williani Rufus; the hall,which had resounded with ac- 
clamations, at the inauguration of thirty kings; the hall,which 
had witnessed the just sentence of Bacon, and the just absolu- 
tion of Somers; the hall,where the eloquence of Stafford had for 
a moment awed and melted a victorious party inflamed with just 
resentment; the hall, where Charles had confronted the High 
Court of Justice, with the placid courize which half redeemed 
his fame. 

Neither military nor civil pomp was wanting. 'The avenues 
were lined with grenadiers. ‘lhe streets were kept clean by cav- 


-alry.. The peers, robed in gold and ermine, were marshaled by 
heralds. ‘The judges, in their vestments of state, attended to give 
_ advice on points of law. The long galleries were crowded by 


such an audience as has rarely excited the fears or emulation 
of an orator. ‘There,were gathered together, from all points of 
a great, free, enlightened, and prosperous realm, grace and female 
loveliness, wit,and learning, the representatives of every science 
and every art. 

There, were seated around the queen, the fair-haired, young 
daughters: of the house of Brunswick. There, the embassadors 
of great kings and commonwealths gazed with admiration on a 
spectacle which no other country in the world could present. 
There, Siddons,* in the pride of her majestic beauty, looked 
with emotion on a scene surpassing all the imitations of the 


*A celebrated actress. 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 187 


stage. ‘There, the historian of the Roman Empire* thought of 
the days when Cicero pleaded the cause of Sicily against Ver- 
res; and when, before a senate which had some show of free- 
dom, Tacitus thundered against the oppressor of Africa; and there 
too, were seen, side by side, the greatest painter and the great- 
est scholar of the age; for the spectacle had allured Royriplds 
from his easel, and Parr from his study. * y ‘ 

Thesergeants made proclamation. Hastings advanced to the 
bar, and bent his knee. ‘The culprit was indeed not unworthy 
of that great presence.. He had ruled an extensive and popu- 
lous country ; had made laws and treaties; had sent forth armies ; 
had set up, and pulled down princes ; and in his high place he 
had so borne himself, that all had feared him, that most had lov- 
ed him, and that hatred itself could deny him no title to glory, 
except virtue. A person, small and emaciated, yet deriving dig- 
nity from a carriage which, while it indicated deference to the 
court, indicated, also, habitual self-possession and self-respect; a 
high and intellectual forehead ; a brow, pensive, but not gloomy ; 
"a mouth of inflexible decision; a face, pale and worn, but on 
which a great and well-balanced mind was legibly written: such 
was the aspect with which the great pro-consul presented himself 
to his judges. 

The charges, and the answers of Hastings, were first read. 
This ceremony occupied two whole days. On the third day, 
Burke rose. Four sittings of the court were occupied by his 
opening speech, which was intended to be a general introduc- 
tion to all the charges. With an exuberance of thought and 
‘a splendor of diction, which more than satisfied the highly-rais- 
ed expectations of the audience, he described the character and 
institutions of the natives of India; recounted the circumstances 
in which the Asiatic empire of Britain had originated; and set 
forth the Constitution of the Ccmpany and of the English Pres- 
idencies. 

Having thus attempted to communicate to his hearers an idea 
of eastern society, as vivid as that which existed in his own 
mind, he proceeded to arraign the administration of Hastings, 
as systematically conducted in defiance of morality and public 
law. The energy and pathos of the great orator extorted expres- 
sions of unwonted admiration from all; and,for a moment,seem 
ed to pierce even the resolute heart of the defendant. ‘The la- 
dies in the galleries, unaccustomed to such displays of eloquence, 
excited by the solemnity of the occasion, and perhaps not un- 
willing to display their taste and sensibility—were in a state of 
incontrollable emotion. Handkerchiefs were pulled out; smel- 


* Gibbon. 


. 


188 M'GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE. 


ling-bottles were handed round; hysterical sobs and screams 
were heard, and some were even carried out in fits. | 
At length, the orator concluded. Raising his voice, till the old 
arches of Irish oak resounded—«“ Therefore,” said he. “ hath it 
in all confidence been ordered by the Commons of Great Britain, 
that I impeach Warren Hastings of high crimes and misdemean- 
ors. JI impeach him in the name of the Commons House of 
Parliament, whose trust he has betrayed. I impeach- him in the 
name of the English nation, whose ancient honor he has sullied. 
t impeach him in the name of the people a ae whose rights 
he has trodden under foot, and whose country he has turned in- 
toa desert. Lastly, in the name of human: nature itself, in the 
name of both sexes, in the name of every age,’in the name of 
every rank, | impeach the common enemy and oppressor of 


all'’—EpinpurcH Review. 


LESSON LXXIX. be apes 
SPEECH ON THE TRIAL OF W. HASTINGS. 


_ This extract comprises the concluding part of Mr. Burke’s speech, onthe 
impeachment of Warren Hastings. ‘This trial was protracted through a 
eee of nearly eight years, and finally terminated in the acquittal of “Mr, 
astings. 
My Lorps:—What is it that we want here to a great act of 
national justice? Do we want a cause, my lords? You have 


the cause of oppressed princes, of desvlated provinces, and of . 


wasted kingdoms. Do you wantacriminal, my lords?) Where 
was there so much iniquity ever laid to the charge of any one? 
No, my lords, you must not look to punish any other delinquent 
from India. Warren Hastings has not left substance enough in 
India to nourish such another. delinquent. | 
- Is it a prosecutor you want? You have before you the Com- 
mons of Great Britain, as prosecutors; and I believe, my lords, 
(that the sun, in his beneficent progress round the world, does not 
behold a more glorious sight,than that of men separated from a 
remote people by the material bounds and barriers of nature, 


united by the bond of a social and moral community ;—all the. 


zommons of England resenting as their own, the indignities and 
eruelties that are offered to ali the people of India. 

Do we want a tribunal? No example of antiquity, nothing 
in the modern world, nothing in the range of human imagination, 
can supply us with a tribunal like this. Here,we see that sacred 
majesty of the crown, under whose authority you sit, and whose 
power you exercise. We see in that invisible authority what we 


oo 


se 


' OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 189 


all feel in ‘reality and life, the beneficent powers and protecting 
justice of his majesty. We have here the heir apparent to the 
crown, such as the fond wishes of the people would have the 
heir apparent of the crown to be. We have here ail the branch- 
es of the royal family, in-a situation between majesty and 
subjection,” between the sovereign and the subject; offering a 
pledge in"that situation, for the support of the rights of the crown 
and the liberties of the people, both which extremities they touch 

We have a great hereditary peerage here ; those who have 
their own honor, the honor of their ancestors, and of their pos- 
terity to guard ; and who will justify, as they have always justi- 
fied, that provision in the constitution by which justice is made 
an hereditary office. We have here a new nobility, who have 
arisen and exalted themselves by various meri{s, by great milita- 
ry services, which have extended the fame of this country from 
the rising to the setting sun: we have those who, by various 
civil merits and various civil talents, have been exalted to a situa- 
tion which they well deserve, and in which they will justify the 
favor of their sovereign and the good opinion of their fellow- 
subjects ; and make them rejoice to see those virtuous characters; 
that were, the other day, upon a level with them, now exalted 
above them in rank, but feeling with them in sympathy what they 
felt in common with them before. We rave persons exalted 
from the practice of the law, from a place in which they admin- 
istered high, though subordinate justice, to a seat here, to en- 
lighten with their knowledge, and to strengthen with their votes, 
these principles which have distinguished the courts, in which 
they have presided. 

My lords, you have here, also, the lights of our religion; you 
have the bishops of England. You have that true image of the 
primitive church in its ancient form, in its ancient ordinances, 
purified from the superstitions and vices, which.a long succes- 
sion of ages will bring upon the best institutions. You have 
the representatives of that religion which says, that their God i 
love, that the very vital spirit of their institutions is charity ; 
religion which so much hates oppression, that when the God 
whom we adore, appeared in human form, he did not appear in 
a form of greatness and majesty, but in sympathy with the low- 
est of the people, and thereby made it a firm and ruling princi- 
ple, that their welfare was the object of all government; since 
the person who was the Master of nature, chose to appear him- 
self in a subordinate situation. ‘These are the considerations 
which influence them, which animate them, and will animate 
them against all oppression; knowing that he who is called first 
among them, and first among us all, both of the flock that is fed, 
and of those that feed it, made himself the “servant of all.”’ 


eS RT | a ee Le NS Se 


190 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


My lords, these are the securities which we have in all the. 
constituent parts of this house. We know them, we reckon, 
we rest upon them, and commit safely the interests of India and 
of humanity into your hands. Therefore, it is with confidence, 


that, ordered by the Commons, 


T impeach Warren Hastings, Esquire, of high crimes and mis- 
demeanors. ‘9 

I impeach him, in the name of the Commons of Great Britain, 
in parliament assembled, whose parliamentary trust. he has be- 
trayed. 

I impeach him, in the name of all the Commons of Great Bri- 
iain, whose national character he has dishonored. 

I impeach him, in the name of the people of India, whose 
laws, rights, and liberties he has subverted; whose properties 
he has destroyed; whose country he has laid waste and deso- 
late. 

I impeach him, in the name, and by the virtue of those eternal 
laws of justice, which he has violated. 

I impeach him, in the name of human nature itself, which he 
has cruelly outraged, injured, and oppressed, in both sexes, in 
every age, rank, situation, and condition of life—Burxe. 


LESSON LXXX. 
THE PARTING OF MARMION AND DOUGLAS. 


Tn the poem, from which this extract is taken, Marmion is represented as 
an embassador, sent by Henry VIII., king of England, to James IV., king 
of Scotland, who were at war with each other. Having finished his mission 
to James, Marmion was intrusted to the protection and hospitality of Doug- 
las, one of the Scottish nobles. Douglas entertains him, guides him as far 
as necessary, and then dismisses him on the borders of England. ‘Though 
Douglas treats him with the respect due to his office, and to the honor of his 
sovereign, yet he despises his private character. Marmion perceives this, 
and takes umbrage at it, though he attempts to repress his resentment, and 
desires to part in peace. Under these circumstances, the scene, as described 
in this sketch, takes place. ‘Tantallon is the name of Douglas’ castle. 


Nor far advanced was morning day, 
When Marmion did his troop array, 
To Surrey’s camp to ride; 

He had safe conduct for his band, 
Beneath ‘ie royal seal and hand, 
And Douglas gave a guide. 


The train from out the castle drew, 
But Marmion stopped to bid adieu: 

‘‘' Though something I might ’plain,” he said, 
‘Of cold rerpect to stranger guest, 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 


Sent hither by the king’s behest, 
While in Tantallon’s towers I staid, 
Part we in friendship‘ from your land, 
And, noble Earl’, receive my hand*.” 
But Douglas round him drew his cloke, 
Folded his arms, and thus he spoke :— 
“« My manors, halls, and towers shall still 
Be open at my sovereign’s will, 
'To each one whom he lists, howe’er 
Unmeet to be the owner’s peer. 
My castles are my king’s alone, 
From turret to foundation stone ;— 
The hand of Douglas is his own’; 
And never shall, in friendly grasp, 
The hand of such as Marmion‘ clasp.” 


Burmed Marmion’s swarthy cheek like fire, 
And shook his very frame for ire, 
And “ This to me’,’’ he said, 

‘And ’twere not for thy hoary beard, - 
Such hand as Marmion’s had not spared 
To cleave the Douglas’ head! 

And first’, I tell’ thee, haughty peer’, 
He who does England’s’ message here, 
Although the meanest’ in her state, 
May well, proud Angus, be thy’ mate: 
And Douglas’, more‘ I tell thee here, 
Even in thy pitch of pride, 
~ Here‘, in thy hold‘, thy vassals near, 
I tell thee’, thow ’rt defied’! 
And if thou said’st I am not peer’ 
To any lord in Scotland here’, 
Lowland’, or Highland’, far‘,or near’, 
Lord Angus,’ thou—hast—lied‘!”” 


On the Earl’s cheek, the flush of rage 
O’ercame the ashen hue of age: 
Fierce he broke forth; ‘‘And dar’st thou then 
To beard the kon’ in his den’, 
The Douglas’ in his hall’? 
And hop’st thou thence unscathed to go? 
No‘, by St. Bryde, of Bothwell, no’! 
Up drawbridge‘, grooms,/—what,‘ warder’, « . 
Let the porteullis‘fall, ”’ ; 
Lord Marmion turned,—well was his need,—~ 
And dashed the rowels in his steed, 
Like arrow through the arch-way sprung; 
The ponderous gate behind him rung: 
To pass there was such scanty room, 
The bars,descending, grazed his plume. 


The steed along the draw-bridge flies, 
Just as it trembled on the rise: 


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192 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


Not lighter does the swallow skim 
Along the smooth lake’s level brim: 
aa And when lord Marmion reached his. band 
F He halts, and turns with clinched hand, 
And shout of loud defiance pours, 
_ And shook his gauntlet at the towers. 
: *“ Horse’! horse\!”’ the Douglas cried‘, “and chase !”” 
A But soon he reined his fury’s pace: 
‘A royal messenger he came, 
Though most unworthy of the name; 
Saint Mary mend my fiery mood! 
‘ Old age ne’er cools the Douglas’ blood, 
f I thought to slay him where he stood. 
Tis pity of him too,” he cried ; : 
‘* Bold he can speak, and fairly ride; 
I warrant him a warrior tried.”’ . 
With this, his mandate he recalls, 
And slowly seeks his castle walls.—Watrter Scorr. 
: 


=o, ae Fe 


LESSON LXXXI. 


, RED JACKET, THE INDIAN CHIEF 
it te ‘sou wert a monarch born. Tradition’s pages 
ae Tell not the planting of thy parent tree, 
* But that the forest tribes have bent for ages, 


To thee and to thy sires, the subject knee. 


., ‘Thy name is princely, though no poet’s magic 
Could make Red Jacket grace an English rhyme, 
Unless he had a gamut for the tragic, 
And introduced it into pantomime ; 


Yet it is music in the language spoken 
Of thine own land; and on her herald-roll, 
As nobly fought for, and-as proud a token 
As Caur pe Lion’s,* of a warrior’s soul. 


Thy garb—though Austria’s bosom-stars would frighten 
‘hat metal pale, as diamonds the dark mine, ; 

And George the Fourth wore in the dance at Brighton, 
A more becoming evening dress than thine; 


Yet *tis a brave one, scorning wind and weather, 
And fitted for thy couch on field and flood, 

As Rob Roy’s f tartan, for the Highland. heather; 
Or forest green, for England’s Robin Hood.t 


* Ceeur de Lion, (pro. Keur de Lee-on,) lion-hearted, aname given to Rich« 
ard I, of England. hk 
t These were celebrated outlaws, the one of Scotland, the other of Eng- 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES, 193 


Is strength a monarch’s merit? (like a whaler’s) 
Thou art as tall, as sinewy, and as strong 

As earth’s first kines—the Argo’s gallant sailors, © 
Heroes in history, and gods in song. 


Is eloquence? Her spell is thine, that reaches ! 
The heart, and makes the wisest head its sport; 

And there’s one rare, strange virtue in thy speeches~- 
The secret of their mastery—they are short. 


{s beauty? Thine has with thy youth departed; 
But the love-legends of thy manhood’s years, 
And she who perished young and broken-hearted, 

Are—but I rhyme for smiles, and not for tears. 


The monarch-mind,—the mystery of commanding, 
The god-like power, the art Napoleon, 

Of winning, fettering, molding, wielding, bending, 
The hearts of millions till they move as one; 


Thou hast it. At thy bidding,men have crowded 
The road to death as to a festival ; 

And minstrel-minds, without a blush, have shrouded, 
With banner-folds of glory, their dark pall. 


Who will believe—not I—for in deceiving 

Lies the dear charm of life’s delightful dream ; 
I cannot spare the luxury of believing 

That all things beautiful are what they seem: 


Who would believe, that, with a smile whose blessing 
Would, like the patriarch’s, soothe a dying hour; 
With voice as low, as gentle, as caressing, 
As e’er won maiden’s lip in moonlight bower ; 


With look, like patient Job’s, eschewing evil; 
With motions graceful as a bijgl’s in air; 
Thou art, in sober truth, the veriest devil 
That e’er clinch’d fingers in a captive’s hair? 


That in thy veins there springs a poison fountain, 
Deadlier than that which bathes the Upas-tree: 
And,in thy wrath, a nursing cat o’ mountain 
Is calm as her babe’s sleep compared with thee? 


And,underneath that face, like summer’s ocean’s, 
Its lip as moveless, and its cheek as clear, 

Slumbers a whirlwind of the heart’s emotions, 
Love, hatred, pride, hope, sorrow,—all, save fear. 


Love—for thy land, as if she were thy daughter, 
Her pipes in peace, her tomahawk in wars ; 


17 


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194 M’GUFFEY'S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


Hatred—of missionaries and. cold water 5 
Pride—in thy rifle-trophies and thy scars ; 


Hope—that thy wrongs will be,by the Great Spirit 
Remembered and revenged, when thou art gone ; 
Sorrow—that none are left thee to inherit 
Thy name, thy fame, thy passions, and thy throne. 
HALLECE. 


LESSON LXXXII. 
THE VOYAGE. 


To an American visiting Europe, the long voyage he has to 
make, is an excellent preparative. ‘The temporary absence of 
worldly scenes and employments, produces a state of mind pe- 
culiarly fitted to receive new and vivid impressions. ‘lhe vast 
space of waters that separates the hemispheres, is ‘like a blank 
page in existence. ‘There is no gradual transition by which, 
as in Europe, the features and population of one country blend 
almost imperceptibly with those of another. From the moment 
you lose sight of the land you have left, all is vacaney, until 
you step on the opposite shore, and are lanched, at once, into 
the bustle and novelties of another world. 

In traveling by land, there is a continuity of scene, and a con- 
nection of persons and incidents, that carry on the story of life, 
and lessen the effect of absence and separation. We drag, it is 
true, “a lengthened chain,”’ at each remove of our pilgrimage ; 
but the chain is unbroken. We can trace it back, link by link ; 
and we feel, that the last of them still grapples us to home. Buta 
wide sea-voyage severs us at once. It makes us conscious of 
being cast loose from the secure anchorage of settled life, and 
sent adrift upon a doubtful world. It interposes a gulf, not mere- 
ly imaginary, but real, between us and our homes ; suf gulf sub- 
ject to tempests, and fear, and uncertainty, that makes distance 
palpable, and return precarious. 

Such at least was the case with myself. As I saw the last 
blue line of my native land fade away like a cloud in the hori- 
zon, it seemed as if I had closed one volume of the world and 
its concerns, and I had time for meditation before I opened anoth- 
er. ‘That land, too, now vanishing from my view, which contain- 
ed all that was most dear to me in life, what vicissitudes might 
occur in it, what changes might take place in me before I should 
visit it again! Who can tell, when he sets forth to wander 
whither he may be driven by the uncertain current of existence, 
or when he may return, or whether it may be ever his lot to re- 


view the scenes of his childhood ? 


a 


o 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 195 


I said, that at sea. all is vacancy. I should correct the expres- 
sion. To one given to day-dreaming, and fond of losing him 
self in reveries, a sea-voyage is full of subjects for meditation ; 
but then, they are the wonders of the deep and of the air, and 
rather tend to abstract the mind from worldly themes. — I delight- 
ed to loll over the quarter-railing, or to climb to the main-top, 
of a calm day, and muse for hours together, on the tranquil bo- 
som of a summer’s sea; to gaze upon the piles of golden clouds, 
just peering above the horizon, fancy them some fairy realms, 
and people them with a creation of my own; to watch the gentle 
undulating billows, rolling their silver volumes, as if to die away 
on those happy shores. | »! 

There was a delicious sensation of mingled security and awe, 
with which I looked down from my giddy height, at the mon- 
sters of the deep at their uncouth gambols; shoals of porpoises 
tumbling about the bow of the ship; the grampus slowly heav- 
ing his huge form above the surface, or the ravenous shark, 
darting like a specter, through the blue waters. My imagination 
would conjure up all that. I had heard or read of the watery 
world beneath me; of the finny herds that roam its fathomless 
valleys ; of the shapeless monsters that lurk among the very 
foundations of the earth, and of those wild phantasms that swell 
the tales-of fishermen and sailors. — 

Sometimes, a distant sail, gliding along the edge of the ocean, 
would be another theme of idle speculation... How. interesting 
this fragment of a world, hastening to rejoin the great mass of 
existence! What a glorious monument of human invention, 
that has thus triumphed over wind and wave; has brought the 
ends of the world into communion; has established an inter- 
change of blessings, pouring into the sterile regions of the north, 
all the luxuries of the south; has diffused the light of knowledge, 
and the charities of cultivated life ; and has thus bound together 
those scattered portions of the human race, between which na- 
ture seemed to have thrown an insurmountable barrier. 

We one day descried some shapeless object drifting at a dis- 
tance. At sea, every thing that breaks the monotony of the sur- 
rounding expanse, attracts attention. It proved to be the mast 
of a ship that must have been completely wrecked: for there 
were the remains of handkerchiefs by which some of the crew 
had fastened themselves to the spar, to prevent their being wash- 
ed off by the waves. There was no trace by which the name 
of the ship could be ascertained. ‘The wreck had evidently 
drifted about for many months; clusters of shell-fish had fasten- 
ed about it, and long sea-weeds flaunted at its sides. But where, 
thought I, is the crew? ‘Their struggle has long been over; they 
have gone down amidst the roar of the tempest; their rones lie 


CCS 


ae linia Pea “ —- . \ . * oS Se 


196 _ M'GUFFEY’S “RHETORICAL GUIDE # 


whitening among the caverns of the deep. Silence and obliv- 
ion, like the waves, have closed over-them, and no one can tell 
the story of theirend. What sighs have been wafted after that 

ship! what prayers offered up at the deserted fireside of home! 
How often has the father, the wife, the mother, pored over the 
daily news, to catch some casual intelligence of this rover of the 
deep! How has expectation darkened into anxiety ; anxiety in- 
to dread; and dread into despair! Alas! not one memento shall 
ever return, for love to cherish. | All that shall ever be known, is, 
that she saulep Hon her port, “‘and was never heard of more.’ 

es W. Irvine. 


- 


LESSON LXXXIH. 
THE SAME.—CONCLUDED. 


Te sight of the wreck gave rise to many dismal anecdotes. 
This was particularly the case in the evening, when the weath- 
er, which had hitherto been fair, began to look wild and threat- 
ening, and gave indications of one of those sudden storms that 
will sometimes break in upon the serenity of a summer’s voy- 
age. As we sat around the dull light of a lamp, in the cabin, 
that made the gloom more ghasily, every one had his tale of 


shipwreck and disaster. _ Twas particularly struck by a not 


one related by th 

“As T was on ailing,’ said he, “in a fine, stout ship, across 
the banks of wfoundland, one of those heavy fogs that pre- 
vail in those parts, rendered it impossible for us to see far ahead, 
even in the day time ; put ‘at night, the weather was so thick, 
that we could not distinguish any object, at twice the length of 
the ship. I kept lights at the mast-head and a constant watch 
forward, to lonktart for fishing smacks, which are accustomed 
to lie at anchor on the banks. The wind was blowing a smack- 
ing breeze, and we were going at a great rate through the water. 
Suddenly, the watch gave the alarm of ‘a sail a-head!’ It was 

scarcely uttered before we were upon her. She was a small 
schooner at anchor, with her broadside towards us. ‘The crew 
were all asleep, and had neglected to hoist a light. 

‘‘ We struck her just amidships. The force, the size, the 
weight of our vessel, bore her down below the waves ; we pass- 
ed over her, and were hurried on our course. As the crashing 
wreck was sinking beneath us, I had a glimpse of two or three 
half naked wretches, rushing from her cabin; they just star- 
ted from their beds, to be swallowed shrieking by the waves;I 
heard their drowning cry, mingling with the wind. The blast e 
that bore it to our ears, swept us out of all further hearing. I é 


oe 


& 4 % - 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 197 


shall never forget that cry! It was some time, before we could 
put the ship about, she was under such headway. We returned 
as nearly as we could guess, to the place where the smack had 
anchored. We cruised about for several hours in the dense fog. 
We fired signal-guns, and listened if we might hear the halloo 
of any survivors ; but all was ae cede never saw or heard any 
thing of them more.’ 

I confess these stories, nen a tne. put an end to all my fine 
fancies. The storm increased with the night. ‘The sea was 
lashed into tremendous confusion. There was a fea rful sullen — 
sound of rushing waves and broken surges. At 8s, the black — 
volume of clouds overhead seemed rent asunder by flashes of 
lightning, that quivered along the foaming billows, and made the 
succeeding darkness doubly terrible. The thunders bellowed 
over the wild waste of waters, and were echoed and prolonged 
by the moaning waves. As I saw the ship staggering and plung- 
ing among these roaring caverns, it seemed miraculous that she 
regained her balance, or preserved her buoyancy. “Her yards 
would dip into the water; her bow was almost buried beneath 
the waves. Sometimes, an impending surge appeared ready to 
overwhelm her, and nothing but a dextrous movement of the 
helm preserved her from the shock. 

When I retired to my cabin, the awful scene still followed me. 
The whistling of the wind through the rigging, sounded like fu- 
neral wailings. ‘The creaking of the masts, the straining and 
groaning of bulk-heads, as the ship labored im the weltering sea, 
were - ebifal, _As I heard the waves rushing along the sides of 
the ship, and roaring in my very ear, it seemed as if death were 
raging round this floating prison, seeking for his prey: the mere - 
starting of a nail, the yawning of a seam, might give him en- 
trance,)-: ss? ad 

A fine day, hosberer, with a tranquil sea and favoring breeze, 
soon put all these dismal reflections to flight. -It is impossible 
to resist the gladdening influence of fine weather and fair wind 
at sea. When the ship is decked out in all her canvas, every 
sail swelled, and careering gayly over the curling waves, how 
lofty, how gallant she appears! how she seems to lord it’ over 
the deep !—But it is time to get ashore. 

It was a fine sunny morning, when the thrilling ery of “land !’’ 
was heard from the mast-head. None, but those who have ex- 
perienced it, can form an idea of the delicious throng of sensa- 
tions which rush into an American’s bosom, when he “first comes 
in sight of Europe. ‘There is a volume of associations with the 
very name. It is the land of promise, teeming with every thing 
‘of which his childhood has heard, or on which his studious 
years have pondered. From that time, until the moment of ar- 


i98 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


rival, it was all feverish excitement. The ships of war, that 
prowled like guardian giants along the coast; the headlands of 
Ireland, stretching out into the channel; the Welsh mountains, 
towering into the clouds; all were objects of intense interest. 
As we sailed up the Mersey, my eye dwelt with delight on neat 
cottages, with their trim shrubberies and green grass-plats. I 
saw the moldering ruins of an abbey overrun with ivy, and the 
taper spire of the village church, rising from the brow of 
neighboring hill. All were characteristic of England. 

The tide-and,wind were so: favorable, that the ship was ena- 
bled to. come at once to the pier. It was thronged with people; 
.some, idle lookers-on, others, eager expectants of friends or rel- 
atives. I could distinguish the merchant to whom the ship was 
consigned. I knew him by his calculating brow and restless 
air. His hands were thrust into his pockets; he was whistling 
thoughtfully, and walking to and fro, a small space having been 
accorded to him by the crowd, in deference to his temporary 
importance. ‘There were repeated cheerings and salutations in- 
terchanged between the shore and the ship, as friends happened 
to recognize each other. 

I particularly noticed one young woman, of humble dress, but 
interesting demeanor. She was leaning forward from among the 
crowd; her eye hurried over the ship as it neared the shore, to 
catch some wished-for countenance. She seemed disappointed 
~ and agitated, when I heard a faint voice call her name. It was 
from a poor sailor who had been ill all the voyage, and had exci- 
ted the sympathy of every one ‘on board. When the weather 
was fine, his mess-mates had spread a matress for him, on deck, 
in the shade; but of late, his illness had so increased, that he 
had taken to his hammock, and only breathed a wish, that he 
might see his wife before he died. He had been helped on deck, 
as we came up the river, and was now leaning against the 
_ shrouds, with.a countenance so wasted, so pale, so ghastly, that 
it was no wonder even the eye of affection did not recognize 
him. But atthe sound of his voice, her eye darted on his fea- 
_ tures; it read at once a whole volume of sorrow; she clasped her 
hands, uttered a faint shriek, and stood wringing them in silent 
agony. . 

All was now hurry and bustle; the meetings of acquaintan- 
ees; the greetings of friends; the consultations of men of busi« 
ness. I alone was solitary and idle. I had no friend to meet, 
no cheering to receive. I stepped upon the land of my forefath- 
ers—but felt that I was a stranger in the land.—W. Irvine. 


> 
oF 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 


LESSON LXXXIV. 
THE PEARL-DIVER. 


Tou hast been where the rocks of coral grow, 
Thou hast fought with eddying waves; 

Thy cheek is pale, and thy heart beats low, 
Thou searcher of ocean’s caves! 


Thou hast looked on the gleaming wealth of old, 


And wrecks where the brave have striven;3. 
The deep is a strong and fearful hold, 
But thou its bar hast riven! 


A wild and weary life is thine, 

A wasting task and lone; 

Though treasure-grots for thee may shine, 
To all besides unknown. 


A weary life! but a swift decay 

Soon, soon shall set thee free !. 

Thou ’rt passing fast from thy toils away, 
Thou wrestler with the sea! 


In thy dim eye, on thy hollow cheek, 
Well are the death-signs read ; 

Go, for the pearl in its cavern seek, 
Ere hope and power be fled. 


- And bright in beauty’s coronal 


That glistening gem:shall be; 
A star to all the festive hall— 
But who shall think on thee ? 


None ;—as it gleams from the queen-like head, 
Not one, ’midst throngs, will say, 

‘‘A life hath been like a rain-drop shed, 

For that pale and quivering ray.” 

Woeforthe wealth thus dearly bought !— 

And are not those like thee, 

Who win for earth, the gems of Bah oh 

O wrestler with the sea! 


Down to the gulfs of the soul they go, 
Where the passion-fountains burn, 


- Gathering the jewels far below, 


From many a buried urn: 


) Wringing from lava-veins the fire 


That o’er bright words is poured ; 
Learning deep sounds, to make the lyre 
A spirit in each chord. 


199 


200 


M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


But oh! the price of bitter tears, 
Paid for the lonely power, 

That throws at last, o’er desert years, 
A darkly clorious dower! 


Like flower-seeds, by the wild wind spread, 
So radiant thoughts are strewed ; 

The soul whence those high gifts are shed, 
May faint in solitude. 


And who will think, when the strain is sung, 
Till a thousand hearts are stirred, 

What life-drops from the minstrel wrung, 
Have gushed with every word! 


None, none !—his treasures live like thine, 
He strives and dies like thee; 

Thou that hast been to the pearl’s dark shrine 
O wrestler with the sea!—Mrs. Hemans. 


LESSON LXXXV. 


ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCH fARD, 


Tue curfew tolls‘; the knell of parting day"! 
The lowing herd winds slowly o’er the lea’; 
The plowman homeward plods his weary way . 
And leaves the world to darkness, and to me’. 


Now fades the glimm’ring landscape on the sight, 
And all the air a solemn stillness holds, 

Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, 
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds; 


Save, that from yonder ivy-mantled tower, 
The moping owl] does to the moon complain 

Of such as, wand’ring near her secret bower, 
Molest her ancient, solitary reign. 


Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree’s shade, 
Where heaves the turf in many a mold’ring heap, 
Each in his narrow cell forever laid, 
The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 


The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, 

The swallow, twitt’ring from the straw-built shed, 
The cock’s shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, 

No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. 


Ud 


ra 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 201 


For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, 
Or busy housewife ply her evening care; 

Nor children run to lisp their sire’s return, 
Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. 


Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield; 

Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke; 
How jocund did they drive their team afield! 

How bow’d the woods beneath their sturdy stroke ! 


Let not ambition mock their useful toil, 
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ; 

Nor grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile, 
The short and simple annals of the poor. 


The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, 

And all that beauty, all that wealth e’er gave, 
Await, alike, the inevitable hour; 

The paths of glory lead but to the grave. 


Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault, 
f mem’ry o’er their tomb no trophies raise, 
Vhere, through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault, 
The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. 


Can storied urn or animated bust, 

Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? 
Can honor’s voice provoke the silent dust, 

Or flattery soothe the dull,cold ear of death? 


Perhaps, in this neglected spot, is laid 
Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; 
Hands that the red of empire might have swayed, 
Or wak’d to ecstasy the living lyre. 


But knowledge to their eyes her ample page, 
Rich with the spoils of time, did ne’er unroll ; 
Chill penury repressed their noble rage, 
And froze the genial current of the soul. 


Full many a gem of purest ray serene, 
The dark, unfathom’d caves of ocean bear}; 
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, 
And waste its sweetness on the desert air. 


Some village Hampden, that, with dauntless breast, 
The little tyrant of his fields withstood ; 

Some mute, inglorious Milton here may rest; 
Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country’s blood. 


The applause of list’ning senates to command’, 
The threats of pain and ruin to despise’, 


202 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


To scatter plenty o’er a smiling land’, 
And read their hist’ry in a nation’s eyes’, 


Their lot forbade‘; nor, cireumscrib’d alone 
Their glowing virtues’, but, their crimes‘ confin’d ; 
Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne’, 
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind’; 


The strugeling pangs of conscious truth to hide ; 
_ To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame’; 
Or heap the shrine of luxury, and pride’, 

With ineense kindled at the muse’s flame. 


Far from the madding crowd’s ignoble strife, 
Their sober wishes never learn’d to stray : 

Along the cool, sequester’d vale of life, 
‘They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. 


Yet e’en these bones, from insult to protect, 
Some frail memorial still, erected nigh, 

With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck’d, 
Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. 


Their names, their years, spell’d by the unletter’d muse, 
The place of fame and elegy supply; 

And many a holy text around she strews, 
Teaching the rustic moralist to die. 


For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, 
This pleasing, anxious being e’er resigned; 
Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, 
Nor cast one longing, ling’ring look behind ? 


On some fond breast the parting soul relies; 
Some pious drops the closing eye requires; 

E’en from the tomb the voice of nature cries, 
E’en in our ashes live their wonted fires. 


For thee, who, mindful of the unhonor’d dead, 
Dost in these lines their artless tale relate’, 

ff, chance, by lonely contemplation led’, 
Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate’, 


Hapty some hoary-headed swain may say, 

‘‘ Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn, 
Brushing, with hasty step, the dews away, 

To meet the sun upon the upland lawn. 


There, at the foot of yonder nodding beech, 
That wreathes its old, fantastic roots so high, 

His listless length at noontide would he stretch, 
And pore upon the brook that bubbles by. 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 203 


Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, 
Mutt’ring his wayward fancies, he would rove; 
Now, drooping, woful, wan, like one forlorn, 
Or craz’d with care, or cross’d in hopeless love. 


One morn, I miss’d him on the accustom’d hill, 
Along the heath, and near his fav’rite tree ; 
Another came; nor yet beside the rill, 
Nor up the lawn, nor at the woods was he. 


The next, with dirges due, in sad array, 

Slow through the church-yard path, we saw him borne— 
Approack, and read (for thow canst read) the lay, 

’Grav’d on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.” 


THE EPITAPH. 
Here rests his head upon the Jap of earth, 
A youth to Fortune, and to Fame, unknown: 


Fair Science frown’d not on his humble birth, 
And Melancholy mark’d him for her own. 


Large was his bounty, and his soul, sincere: 
Heaven did a recompense as largely send : 
He gave to Mis’ry all he had,—a tear ; 
He gain’d trom Heav’n—’twas all he wished—a friend. 


No farther seek his merits to disclose, 

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, 
(There they alike in trembling hope repose, ) 

The bosom of his Father, and his God.—Gray. 


LESSON LXXXVI. 
AN EVENING ADVENTURE. 


Not long since, a gentleman was traveling in one of the 
counties of Virginia, and about the close of the day stopped at 
a public house, to obtain refreshment and spend the night. He 
had been there but a short time, before an old man alighted from 
his gig, with the apparent intention of becoming his fellow guest 
at the same house. 

As the old man drove up, he observed that both the shafts 
of his gig were broken, and that they were held together by 
withes, formed from the bark of a hickory sapling. Our traveler 
observed further, that he was-plainly clad, that his knee-buck- 
les were loosened, and that something like negligence pervaded 
his dress. Conceiving him to be one of the honest yeomanry 
of our land, the courtesies of strangers passed between them, 
and they entered the tavern. It was about the same time, that 


- eS 


204 MWiUUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


an addition of three or four young gentlemen, was made to ea 


number; most, .f not all of them, of the legal profession ; 

~- As soon as they became conveniently accommodated, the con- 
versation was turned, by one of the latter, upon the eloquent har- 
angue which had that day been displayed at the bar. It was re- 
plied by the other, that he had witnessed, the same day, a degree 
of eloquence, no doubt equal, but it was from the pulpit. Somes 
thing like a sarcastic rejoinder was made as to the eloquence of 
the pulpit, and a warm and able altercation ensued, in which the 
merits of the Christian religion became the subject of discus- 
sion. From six o’clock until eleven, the yeung champions 
wielded the sword of argument, adducing with ingenuity and 
ability every thing that could be said pro and con. 

During this protracted period, the old gentleman listened with 
the meekness and modesty of a child, as-if he was adding new 
information to the stores of his own mind; or perhaps he was 
observing with a philosophic eye, the faculties of the youthful 
mind, and how new energies are evolved by repeated action; or 
perhaps, with patriotic emotion, he was reflecting upon the fu- 
ture destinies of his country, and on the rising generation, upon 
whom those future destinies must devolve; or, most probably, 
with a sentiment of moral and religious feeling, he was collect- 
ing an argument which no art would be “able to elude, and no 
force to resist.’’. Our traveler remained a spectator, and took 
no part in what was said. 

At last, one of the young men, remarking that it was impossi- 
ble to combat with long and established prejudices, wheeled 
around, and with some familiarity, exclaimed, ‘Well, my old 


gentleman, what think you of these things?’”’ If, said the trav- 
eler, a streak of vivid lightning had at that moment crossed the 
room, their amazement could not have been greater than it was 


from what followed. ‘The most eloquent and unanswerable ap- 
peal that he had ever heard or read was made for nearly an 
hour, by the old gentleman. So perfect was his recollection, 
that every argument urged against the Christian religion, was 
met in the order in which it was advanced. Hume’s sophistry 
_on the subject of miracles, was, if possible, more perfectly an- 
swered, than it had already been done by Campbell. And in 
the whole lecture there was so much simplicity and energy, 
pathos and sublimity, that not another word was uttered. 
~ ‘An attempt to describe it, said the traveler, would be an at- 
tempt to paint the sunbeams. It was now a matter of curiosity 
and inquiry, who the old gentleman was. ‘The traveler con- 
cluded that it was the preacher from whom the pulpit eloquence 
was heard—but no—it was Joun Marsuatz, the Cur Justice 
or THE Unitep States.—ANoNnymMous. 


« ” 


* 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. » 205 


LESSON LXXXVII. at 
OBJECTS OF EDUCATION. : 


To learn A,B,C, is felt to be extremely irksome by the infant, 
who cannot comprehend what it is for. ‘The boy, forced to 
school, cons over his dull lesson because he must, but feels no 
amusement or satisfaction in it. ‘The labor he is obliged to un- 
dergo is not small; the privations of pleasure and activity, he 
regrets still more ; and all for what ?—to learn what he does not 
like; to force into his mind words to which he attaches no 
ideas, or ideas which appear to him to be of no value ; he can- 
not put them to any present use. Youth is not aware, that not 
for present use is all this designed. The dull, laborious, but - 
necessary routine, like plowing and sowing the land, is in 
hopes of reaping abundance, at some not very distant season. 
Education is not the end, but only the means. . 

Let us see what is the object it has in view. A person grow- 
ing to a certain age must appear in the world; he can no longer 
hide himself at school, nor withdraw behind the routine of the 
trammels appointed for his minority. He must start forward 
and become something. What that something is to be, educa- 
tion only can surmise; even talents, genius, fortune, can give 
little guess. A man must act; whether he is necessitated to 
labor for his maintenance, or is freed by fortune from all ap- 
prehension, and all constrained exertion, yet he must act. It 
is the intent of education to enable him to act rightly, honorably, 
successfully. Without pretension to prophetic honors, one may 
safely say, that a man coming into life is doomed to suffer—and 
perhaps in various shapes of sorrow. Youth may fancy life 
‘one scene of gayety; but reality and fancy differ widely. If 
education has been rightly conducted, it will teach the man to 
suffer with dignity, with honor, nay, with profit. , 

The man lanches into life, and will be exactly, or very near- 
ly, what his actual education purposed. It is well when, guard- 
ed, stored, and stimulated, the youth starts forward, and in man- 
hood prospers; answers his own wishes, his parents’ expec- 
tations, his tutor’s labors, by actual success in his station, what- 
ever it may be. ‘The dreary hours of learning will then be re- 
collected with pleasure, and the labor will be abundantly repaid. 
The end which education had in view will be attained, and its. 
importance, justly acknowledged. 

The alternative will show this importance in a still clearer 
light. ‘The man forced into action, obliged to take perhaps some 
prominent station, may fail to fill it properly ; may fail, notwith- 
sianding his best endeavors. and become unsuccessful in all his 


206 ~ M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


a 
pursuits. . T o fail for want of knowing what education would 
have taught him, would be great disgrace; but to fail when con- 
scious of talents exerted, and carefulness ever active, will take 
away from the man’s own mind, and from the opinion of by- 
standers, all that is disgraceful. He may even gain honor, by 
the exertions made to prevent, or by the disposition shown du- 
ring the deep adversity. The lessons of education may be as 
useful to him in this case as in the other. All that he has learn- 
ed will help him in some shape, and the labor once endured, 
will, even in his sorrowing moments, yield him assistance, satis- 
faction, and perhaps tranquillity, peace,and joy. 

If the object of education is then so important, if the effects of 
it are so strong, so enduring, is it not worth all the labor and pri- 
vation which it can ever occasion ?—Tay.or. 


LESSON LXXXVIILI. 


THE AMBITIOUS YOUTH 


Tu incident described in this lesson is said to have occurred, some years 


since, at the Natural Bridge, in Virginia. This bridge is an immense mass 
of rock, thrown by the hand of nature over a considerable stream of water, 
thus forming a natural passage over the stream. 

‘THERE are three or four lads standing in the channel below the 
natural bridge, looking up with awe to that vast arch of unhewn 
rocks, which the Almighty bridged over these everlasting abut- 
ments, ‘when the morning stars sang together.’ 'The little piece 
of sky spanning those measureless piers, is full of stars, although 


itis mid-day. It is almost five hundred feet fron. where they 


es 


stand, up those perpendicular bulwarks of limestone, to the key- 
rock of that vast arch, which appears to them only the size of a ~ 


man’s hand. The silence of death is rendered more impressive 
by the little stream that falls from rock to rock down the channel. 
The sun is darkened, and the boys have unconsciously uncover- 
ed their heads, as if standing in the presence-chamber of the 
Majesty of the whole earth. 

At.last, this feeling begins to wear away; they begin to look 
around them. They see the names of hundreds cut in the 
limestone abutments. A new feeling comes over their young 
hearts, and their knives are in their hands, in an instant. ‘What 
man has done, man can do,’ is their watchword, as they draw 
themselves up and carve their names a foot above those of a 
hundred full grown men who had been there before them. 
They are all satisfied with this feat of physical exertion ex- 
cept one, whose example illustrates perfectly the forgotten truth, 
that there is no royal road to intellectual eminence. ‘This ambi- 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES,. © 207 
be » 

tious youth sees a name just above his reach, a name that will 
be green in the memory of the world, when those of Alexander, 
Cesar, and Bonaparte shall rot in oblivion. It was 't ame 
of Washington. Before he marched with Braddock to that fa- 
tal field, he had been there and left his name a foot above all his 
predecessors. 

It was a glorious thought of the boy, to write its name, side 
by side with that of the great father of his country. He grasps 
his knife with a firmer hand} and, clinging to a little jutting 
crag, he cuts again into the limestone, about a foot above where 
he stands; he then reaches up and cuts another place for his 
hands. It is a dangerous adventure; but as he puts his feet 
and hands into those notches, and draws himself up carefully to 
his full length, he finds himself a foot above every name chron- 
icled in that mighty wall. -While his companions are regard- 
ing him with concern and_admiration, he cuts his name in rude 
capitals, large and deep, into that flinty album. His knife is 
still in his hand, and strength in his sinews, and a new created 
aspiration in his heart. Again he cuts another niche, and again 
he carves his. name in large capitals. 

This is not enough. Heedless of the entreaties of his com- 
panions, he cuts and climbs again. ‘The graduations of his 
ascending scale grow wider apart. He measures his length 
at every gain he cuts. ‘lhe -voices of his friends wax weaker 
and weaker, till their words are finally lost on his ear. He now, 
for the first time, casts a luok beneath him. Had that glance 
lasted a moment, that moment would have been his last. He 
clings with a convulsive shudder to his little niche in the rock. 
An awful abyss awaits his almost certain fall. He is faint with 
_ severe exertion, and trembling from the sudden view of the dread- 
~ ful destruction to which he is exposed. His knife is worn half- 
way to the haft. He can hear the voices, but not the words, of 

his terror-stricken companions below. Whata moment! What 

a meager chance to escape destruction! ‘There was no retracing 
his steps. It is impossible to put his hands into the same 
niche with his feet, and retain his slender hold a moment. 

Iiis companions instantly perceive this new and fearful dilem- 
ma, and await his fall with emotions that ‘ freeze their young 
blood.”” He is too high, too faint, to ask for his father and mo- 
ther, his brothers and sisters, to come and witness or avert his 
destruction. But one of his companions anticipates his desire. 
Swift as the wind, he bounds down the channel, and the situa- 
tion of the fated boy is told upon his father’s hearth-stone. 

Minutes of almost eternal length roll on; and there are hun-- 
dreds standing in that rocky channel, and hundreds on the bridge 
above, all holding their breath, and awaiting the fearful catastro- 


® 
ro 


208 M’GUFFEY'S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


phe. The poor boy hears the hum of new and numerous voices 
both above and below. He can just distinguish the tones of his 
father, who is shouting with all the energy of despair, “William! 
Wilham! don't look down! Your mother, and Henry, and 
Harriet, are all here praying for you! Dont look down! 
Keep your eye towards the top!” ‘The boy cidn’t look down. 
His eye is fixed like a flint towards Heaven, and his young 
heart on him who reigns there. 

He grasps again his knife. He cuts another niche, and an- 
other foot is added to the hundreds-that remove him from, the 
reach of human help from>below. How carefully he uses his 
wasting blade! How anxiously he selects the softest places in 
that vast pier! How he avoids every flinty grain! How he 
economizes lis physical powers, resting a moment at each 
gain he cuts. How every motion is watched from below. 
There stand his father, mother, brother, and sister, on the very 
spot, where, if he falls, he will not fall alone. 

The sun is now half way down the west. ‘The lad has made 
fifty additional niches in that mighty wall, and now finds him- 
self directly under the middle of that vast arch of rocks, earth, 
and trees. He must cut his way in a new direction, to get from 
under this overhanging mountain. ‘The inspiration of hope is 
dying in his bosom; its vital heat is fed by the increased shouts 
of hundreds perched upon cliffs and trees, and others, who stand 
with ropes in their hands on the bridge above, or with ladders 
below. Fifty gains more must be cut, before the longest rope 
ean reach him. His wasting blade strikes again into the lime- 
stone. ‘The boy is emerging painfully, foot by foot, from under 
that lofty arch. 

Spliced ropes are ready in the hands of those who are 
leaning over the outer edge of-the bridge. ‘Two minutes 
more and all will be over. ‘That blade is worn to the last 
half inch. ‘The boy’s head reels; his eyes are starting from 
their sockets. His last hope is dying in his heart; his life must 
hang upon the next gain he cuts. ‘That niche is his last. At the 
last faint gash he makes, his knife, his faithful knife, falls from 
his nerveless hand, and ringing along the precipice, falls at his 
mother’s feet. An involuntary groan of despair runs like a death- 
knell through the channel below, and all is still as the grave. 

At the height of nearly three hundred feet, the devoted boy 
lifts his hopeless heart and closing eyes to commend his soul 
toGod. ’Tis but a moment—there !—one foot swings off !—he 
is reeling—trembling—toppling over into eternity! Hark! a 
shout falls on his ear from above! ‘The man who is lying with 
half his length over the bridge, has caught a glimpse of the boy’s 
head and shoulders. Quick as thought, the noosed rope is with- 


OF THE ECLECTIG#SERIES. ‘2 20D" 
«Ee 


in reach of the sinking youth. ‘No one breathes. With a faint, 
convulsive eflort, the swooning boy drops his arms into the 
noose. Darkness comes over him, and with the words, God ! 
and mother ! whispered on his lips just loud enough to be heard 
in heaven, the tightening rope lifts him out of his last shallow 
niche. _ Not a lip-moves while he is dangling over that fearful 
abyss : but when a sturdy Virginian reaches down and draws up 
the lad, and holds him up in his arms before the tearful, breath- 
less multitude, such shouting, such leaping and weeping for . 
joy, never greeted the ear of human being so recovered from 
the yawning gulf of eternity.—E. Burrirr. 


‘ LESSON LXXXIX. 
INCENTIVES TO YOUTHFUL DEVOTION. 


I narNestiy wish that I could induce all young persons to 
divest religion of every gloomy and repulsive association; to feel 
that it does not consist,—as some would fain represent it,—in 
solemn looks and a sanctified demeanor, or in an affected fond- 
ness for long sermons or long prayers; but that, properly under- 
stood, it is—and especially for the young—a cheerful and light- 

* some spirit, reposing with affectionate confidence in an Almighty 
Father, unalloyed with fear, unshaken by distrust. 

Would you have within your bosoms, that peace which the 
world can neither give, nor take away?) Would you possess a 
source of the purest and sweetest pleasures? Would you have 
that highest of all blessings—a disposition to relish, in their 
highest perfection, all the innocent and rational enjoyments of 
life? ‘Then, let me conjure you to cherish a spirit of devotion; 

* asimple-hearted, fervent, and affectionate piety. Accustom your, 
~ selves to conceive of God, as a merciful and gracious parent, 
continually looking-down upon you, with the tenderest concern, 
and inviting you to be good, only that you may become everlast- . 
ingly happy. Consider yourselves as placed upon earth, for the. 
express purpose of doing the will of God; and remember, if this — 
‘be your constant object, whatever trials, disappointments, and 
sorrows, you may be doomed to experience, you will be sus- 
tained under them all, by the noblest consolations. 

With a view of keeping up a perpetual sense of your depend- 
euce upon God, never omit to seek him habitually in prayer, and 
to connect the thought of him with all that is affecting or impres- 
sive, in the events of your lives; with all that is stupendous, and 
vast, and beautiful, in the productions of his creative power and 
skill, Whatever excites you; whatever, in the world of nature, 
or the world of man, strikes you as new and’eXtraordinary ; 

18 ‘ 


’ Fe 


i - \ 


‘- 


a 


“ 


210 M’GUFFEY'S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


refer it all to God; discover in it some token of his providence, 
some proof of his goodness; convert it into some fresh occasion 
of praising and blessing his holy and venerable name. Do not 
regard the exercises of devotion as ‘a bare duty, which has a 
merit in itself, however it is performed; but recur to them as a 
privilege and a happiness, which ennobles and purifies your na- 
ture, and binds you, by the holiest of ties, to the greatest and best 
of all beings. 


~» When you consider what God is, and what he has done; when 


you cast your eyes over the broad field of creation, which he has 
replenished, with so many curious and beautiful objects; or raise 
them to the brilliant canopy of heaven, where other worlds, and 
systems of worlds, beam upon the wondering view ; when day 
and night, and summer and winter, and seed-time and harvest; 
when the things nearest and most familiar to you, the very struc- 
ture of your own bodily frame, and that principle of conscious 
life and intelligence which glows within you; all speak to you 
of God, and call up6n your awakened hearts to tremble and 
adore; when to a Being thus vast, thus awful, you are permitted 
to approach in prayer; when you are encouraged to address him 
by the endearing name of a Father in heaven, and with all the 


confidence and ingenuousness of affectionate children, to tell him. 


your wants and your fears, to implore his forgiveness, and earn- 
estly to beseech him for a continuance of his mercies: you can- 
not, my young friends, if you have any feeling, any seriousness 
about you, regard the exercises of devotion as a task; but must 
rejoice’ in it as an unspeakable privilege, to hold direct inter- 
course with that great and good Being, that unseen but universal 
Spirit, to whose presence all things in heaven.and on earth bear 
witness, and in whom we all live, and move; and have our being. 


Thus excite and cherish the spirit of devotion. - Whenever — 
any thing touches your hearts, or powerfully appeals to your 


moral feelings, give way to the religious impulse of the occasion, 
_and send up a silent prayer to the Power who heareth in secret. 
_And, in your daily addresses to God, do not confine yourselves 


to any stated form of words, which may be repeated mechanic-. 
"" s . > 

ally without any concurrence either of the heart or of the head; 
_ but after having reviewed the mercies of your particular condi- 


tion; after having collected your thoughts, and endeavored to 
ascertain the wants and weaknesses of your own character ; give 
utterance, in the simple and unstudied language which comes 
spontaneously to the lips, to all those emotions of gratitude and 
holy fear, of submission and trust, which cannot fail to arise in 
your hearts, when you have previously reflected what you are, 
and find yourselves alone, in the presence of an Almighty God. 
sit ae TAyLor. 


: : 
—— 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 2il 


“LESSON XC. 


A PSALM OF LIFE. 


TELL me not in mournful numbers, 
Life is but an empty dream! 

For the soul is dead that slumbers, 
And things are not what they seem. 


Life is real! Life is earnest! 
And the grave is not its goal; 

Dust thou art, to dust returnest, 
Was not written of the soul. 


Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, 

_ Is our destined end and way, 

But to act, that each to-morrow 
Find us farther than to-day. 


Art is long, and time is fleeting, 
And our hearts, though stout and brave, 
Still, like muffled drums, are beating 
Binaral marches to the grave. 


In the world’s broad field of battle, 
In the bivouac of life, 

Be not like dumb, driven cattle! 
Be a hero in the strife! 


Trust not Future, howe’er pleasant! 
Let the dead Past bury its dead! 

Act !—act in the living Present! 
Heart within, and God o’er head. 


Lives of great men all remind us ; 
We can make our lives sublime, — 

And, departing, leave behind us 
Footsteps on the sands of time; 


Footsteps, that perhaps another, 
Sailing o’er life’s solemn main, 

A forlom and shipwreck’d brother, 
Seeing, shall take heart again. 


Let us, then, be up and doing, 

With a heart for any fate; *. 
Still achieving, still pursuing, 

Learn to labor and to wait.—LonereLnow. 


ie 
a, 


212 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


LESSON XCL* 
THE JUSTICE AND POWER OF GOD 


Brenoup, God is great; we cannot know him, 
Nor search out the number of his years. 
Lo, he draweth up the drops of water. 
Which form rain from his vapor; 
The clouds pour it down, 
And distill it upon man in abundance. 
Who can understand the spreading of his clouds, 
And the rattling of his pavilion? ; 
Behold, he spreadeth around himself his light; 
In both hands he holds the lightning; 
He commissions it against his enemies. 


At this my heart trembleth, 
And is moved out of its place. : 
Hear, O hear the sound of his voice, 
And the noise which issueth from his mouth. ; 
He sendeth it through the whole heavens, : 
And his lightning to the ends of the earth. 
After it a voice roareth; - 
He thundereth with the voice of his majesty, 
And restraineth not the tempest, when his voice is heard. 


__ God thundereth marvelously with his voice; 

Great things doeth he, which we cannot comprehend. 

For he saith to the snow, ‘“ Be thou on the earth ;” 

Likewise to the rain, even the rains of his might. 

He sealeth up the hand of every man, ; 
That all his laborers may acknowledge him. 

Then, the beasts go mab Hoag: 

And abide in their caverns. 


Out of the south cometh the whirlwind, — 
And cold out of the north.) — 
By the breath of God, ice is formed, 
And the broad waters are made solid. ~ 
He causeth the clouds to descend in rain, 
And his lightning seattereth the mists. 
He leadeth them about by his wisdom, 
That they may execute his commands throughout the world, 
Whether he cause them to come for punishment. 
Or for his earth, or for mercy. 


Give ear unto this, O Job! 
Stand still, and consider the wondrous works of God. 
Dost thou know when God ordained them, 
And caused the lightning of his cloud to Hash? 
Dost thou understand the balancing of the clouds, 
The wondrous works of him that is perfect in wisdom? © 


+? 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 213 
How thy garments become warm 
When-he maketh the earth sultry by his south wind ? 
Canst thou, like him, spread out the sky, 
Firm, like a molten mirror? 
Teach us what we shall say to him, 
For we cannot address him by reason of darkness. 
If 1 speak, will it be told him? 
Verily, if a man speak to him, he will be consumed. 


Men cannot look upon the light 
When it is bright in the skies, 
When a wind hath passed over them, and made them clear, 
And a golden splendor cometh from the firmament; 
But with God is terrible majesty! 
The Almighty, we cannot find him out; 
He is excellent in power and justice, 
Perfect in righteousness, but he giveth-no account of his doings. 
Therefore let man fear him 
Whom none of the men of wisdom can behold. 

Noyes’ TRANSLATION oF Jos. 


LESSON XCII. 


ae os 


A BEE HUNT. a 


Tue beautiful forest in which we were encamped, abounded © 
in bee-trees ; that is to say, trees, in the decayed trunks of which, 


wild bees had established their hives. It is surprising in what 
countless swarms the bees have overspread the far west, within 
but a moderate number of years. ‘The Indians consider them 
but the harbinger of the white man, as the buffalo is of the red 


man; and say, that in proportion as the bee advances, the Indian | 


and buffalo retire. ‘They are always accustomed to associate the 
hum of the bee-hive with the farm-house and flower-garden, and 
to consider those industrious little insects as connected with the 
busy haunts of man; and I am told, that the wild bee is seldom to 
be met with, at any great distance from the frontier. They have 
been the heralds of civilization, steadfastly preceding it, as it ad- 
vaneed from the Atlantic borders, and some of the ancient set- 
tlers of the west pretend to give the very year when the honey- 
bee first crossed the Mississippi. ‘The Indians, with surprise, 
found the moldering trees of their forests suddenly teeming 
with ambrosial sweets, and nothing, I am told, can exceed the 
greedy relish with which they banquet, for the first time, upon 
this unbought luxury of the wilderness. 

At present, the honey-bee swarms in myriads in the noble 
groves and forests that skirt and tied. prairies, and extend 


along the alluvial bottoms of the rivers. It seems to me as if 


ae 


* 
oe 


fo, 
214 MGUFFEYS RHETORICAL GUIDE 


these beautiful regions answer literally to the description of the 
land of promise, ‘a land flowing with milk and honey ;”’ for the 
_ rich pasturage of the prairies is caleulated to sustain herds of 
cattle, as countless as the sands on the sea-shore, while the flow- 
ers, with which they are enameled, render them a very paradise 
for the nectar-seeking bee. 

We had not been long in the camp, when a party set out in 
quest of a bee-tree; and being curious to witness the sport, I 
gladly accepted an invitation to accompany them. ‘The party 
was headed by a veteran bee-hunter, a tall, lank fellow, with a 
homespun garb, that hung loosely about his limbs, and with a 
straw-hat, shaped not unlike a bee-hive. A comrade, equally 
uncouth in garb, and without a hat, straddled along at his heels, 
with a long rifle on his shoulder. ‘To these succeeded half a 
dozen others, some with axes, and some with rifles; for no one 
stirs far from the camp without his fire-arms, so as to be ready 
either for wild deer or wild Indians. et 

After proceeding for some distance, we came to an open glade 
on the skirts of the forest. Here our leader halted, and then 
advanced quietly to a low bush, on the top of which he placed 
a piece of honey-comb. This, I found, was the bait or lure for 
the wild bees. Several were soon humming about it, and diving 
into the cells. When they had laden themselves with honey, 
they would rise into the air, and dart off ina straight line, almost 
with the velocity of a bullet. The hunters watched attentively 
the course they took, and then set off in the same direction, 
stumbling along over twisted roots and fallen trees, with their 
eyes turned up to the sky. In this way, they traced the honey- 
laden bees to their hive, in the hollow trunk of a blasted oak, 
where, after buzzing about for a moment, they entered a hole, 
about sixty feet from the ground. 

Two of the bee-hunters now plied their axes vigorously at the 
foot of the tree, to level it with the ground. The mere specta- 
tors and amateurs, in the meantime, drew off to a cautious dis- 
tance, to be out of the way of the falling of the tree, and the ven- 
geance of its inmates. ‘The jarring blows of the ax seemed to 
have no effect in alarming or disturbing this. most industrious 
community. ‘They continued to ply at their usual occupations ; 
some arriving, full freighted, into port, others sallying forth, on 
new expeditions, like so many merchantmen in a money-making 
metropolis, little suspicious of impending bankruptcy and down- 
fall. Even a loud crack, which announced the disrupture of the 
trunk, failed to divert their attention from the intense pursuit of 
gain. At length, down came the tree, with a tremendous crash, 
bursting open from end to end, and displaying all the hoarded 
treasures of the commonwealth. 


’ 


eels aie aes as 
OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. "Dis 
ir 


One of the hunters immediately ran up with a wisp of lighted 
hay, as adefense against the bees. The latter, however, made 
no attack, and sought no revenge; they seemed stupified by the 
catastrophe, and unsuspicious of its cause, and remained crawl- 
ing and buzzing about the ruins, without offering us any molesta- 
tion. Every one of the party now fell to, with spoon and hunts 
ing-knife, to scoop out the flakes of honey-comb, with which the 
hollow trunk was stored. Some of them were of old date and a 
deep brown color; others were beautifully white, and the honey 
in their cells was almost limpid. Such of the combs as were 
entire were placed in camp-kettles, to be conveyed to the en- 
eampment; those which had been shivered in the fall were de- 
voured upon the spot.. Every stark bee-hunter was to be seen 
with a. rich morsel in his hand, dripping about his fingers, and 
disappearing as rapidly as a cream-tart before the holyday appe- 
tite of a school-boy. 

‘was it the bee-hunters alone, that profited by the down- 

this industrious community. As if the bees would carry 
through the similitude of their habits with those of laborious and 
gainful man, I beheld numbers from rivalthives, arriving on eager 
wing, to enrich themselves with the ruin of their neighbors. 


These busied themselves as eagerly and cheerfully, as so many 


wreckers on an Indiaman that has been driven on shore; plung- 
ing into the cells of the broken honey-combs, banqueting greed- 
ily on the spoil, and then winging their way, full freighted, to 
their homes. As to the poor proprietors of the ruin, they seemed 
to have no heart to do any thing, not even to taste the nectar that 
flowed around them; but crawled backwards and forwards, in 
vacant desolation, 4s I have seen a poor fellow with his hands in 
his breeches’ pocket, whistling vacantly and despondingly, about 
the ruins of his house that had been burnt. 

It is difficult to describe the bewilderment and confusion of the 
bees of the bankrupt hive, who had been absent at the time of the 
catastrophe, and who arrived from time to time, with full cargoes 
from abroad. At first they wheeled about in th- air, in the place 
where their fallen tree had once reared its head, astonished at 
finding it all a vacuum. At length, as if comprehending their 
disaster, they pete down in ¢lusters, on a dry branch of a 
neighboring tree, from whence they seemed-to contemplste. the 
prostrate ruin, and to buzz forth doleful lamentations over the 
downfall of their republic. It was a scene, on which the “ mel-+ 
ancholy Jacques’? might have moralized by the hour. 

We now abandoned the place, leaving much honey in the hol- 
low of the tree. “Tt will all be cleared off by varmint,’’ said 
one of the rangers, “‘ What vermin?”’:asked J. «Qh, bears, 
and skunks;and raccoons, and ’possums,”’ said he :—‘* the bears 


* 


Wr 


* : 

216 M’ GUBEEY’s RHETORICAL GUIDE 

‘is the knowingest Hos for finding out a bee-tree in the world 
_ They ll gnaw for days together at the trunk, till they make a 


hole big enough to get in their paws, and then they Il haul out 
ieee bees, and all. ——W, IRVING. 


LESSON XCIII. ; “yy 
THE MECHANICAL WONDERS OF A FEATHER. 


Every single feather is a mechanical wonder. If we look at 
the quill, we find properties not easily brought together, strength 
_and lightness. I know few things more remarkable, than the 


* 2S strength and lightness of the very pen with which I am now writ-- 


ing. If we cast our eye toward the upper part of the stem, we 
see a material made for the purpose, used in no other class of 
animals, and in no other part of birds; tough, light, pliant, elastic. 
The pith, also, which feeds the fekihena: is neither bone, flesh, 
membrane, nor tendon. 

But the most artificial part of the feather is the beard, or, as it 
is sometimes called, the vane, which we usually strip off from 
one side, or both, when we make a pem.. ‘The separate pieces 
of which this is composed are called -threads, filaments, or rays. 
Now, the first thing which an attentive observer will remark is, 
how much stronger the beard of the feather shows itself to be 
when préssed in a direction perpendicular to its plane, than when 
rubbed either up or down in the line of the stem. He will soon 
discover, that the threads of which these beards are composed 
are flat, and placed with their flat sides towards each other; by 
ies means, while they easily bend for the approaching of 

ach other, as any one may perceive by drawing his finger ever_ 
so lightly upwards, they are much harder to ben d out of their 
plane, which is the direction in which they have to encounter 
the impulse and pressure of the air, and in which their strength 
is wanted. 23; 

It is also to be observed, that when two threads, separated by 
accident or force, are brought together again, they immediately 
reclasp. Draw your finger down the feather which is against 
the grain, and you break, probably, the junction of some of the 
contiguous threads; draw your finger up the feather, and you 
restore all things to. their former state. It is no common me- 
chanism by which this contrivance is effected. ‘The threads or 
laminz above mentioned are interlaced with one another} and 
the interlacing is performed by means of a vast number of fibres 

_or teeth, which the threads shoot forth on each side, and which 
heok and grapple together. | 3 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 217 


Fifty of these fibres have been counted in one-twentietl of an 
inch, ‘They are crooked, but curved after a different manner: 
for those which proceed from the thread on the side toward-the 
extremity, arelonger, more flexible, and bent downward ; whereas, 
those which proceed from the side toward the beginning or quill- 
end of the feather, are shorter, firmer, and turned upward. 
When two lamina, therefore, are pressed together, the crooked 
parts of the long fibres fall into the cavity made by the crooke 
parts of the others ; just as the latch, which is fastened to a door, 
euters into the cavity of the catch fixed to the door-post, and 
there hooking itself, fastens the door.—Patry. 


LESSON XCIV. 


THE NOSE AND THE EYES. 


Between Nose and Eyes a strange contest arose ; 
The spectacles set them, unhappily, wrong ; 
The point in dispute was, as all the world knows, 
‘To whom the said spectacles ought to belong. 


So Tongue was the lawyer, and argued the cause, 

With a great deal of skill, and a wig full of learning, 
While chief baron Ear, sat to balance the laws, 
- So famed for his talent in nicely discerning. 


‘‘In behalf of the Nose, it will quickly appear, 
And your lordship” he said ‘will undoubtedly find, 
That the Nose has the spectacles always to wear, 
-Which amounts to possession, time out of mind.” 


Then, holding the spectacles up to the court, 

‘Your lordship observes, they are made with a straddle, 
As wide as the ridge of the Nose is; in short, 

Designed to sit close to it, just like a saddle. 


“Again, would your lordship a moment suppose, , 
(Tis a case that has happened, and may happen again,) 
That, the visage or countenance had not a Nose, 
Pray, who would, or who could wear spectacles then? 


“On the whole, it appears, and my argument shows, 
With a reasoning the court will never condemn, 
That the spectacles, plainly, were made for the Nose, 

And the Nose was, as plainly, intended for them.” 


Then shifting his side, (as a lawyer knows how,) 
He pleaded again in behalf of the Eyes: 
But what were his arguments, few people know, 
For the cyurt did not think them equally wise. 
19 


218 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


~ So his lordship decreed, with a grave, solemn tone, 
Decisive and clear, without one ¢f or bui— 
That whenever the Nose put his spectacles on, 
By day-light or candle-light,—Hyes should be shut. 
CowPper. 


—. LESSON XCV. 


THE WELL OF ST. KEYNE. 


St. Keyne was a Welch princess, who lived and died near the well which 
was named after her. It was popularly believed, that she laid upon this well 
the spell described in this ballad. 


A wELt there is in the West Country, 
And a clearer one never was seen; 
There is not a wife in the West Country 
But has heard of the well of St. Keyne. 


An oak and an elm tree stand beside, 
And behind does an ash tree grow, 

And a willow from the bank above, 
Droops to the water below. 


A traveler came to the well of St. Keyne; 
Joyfully he drew nigh, 

For trom cock-crow he had been traveling, 
And there was not a cloud in the sky. 


He drank of the water, so cool and clear, 
For thirsty and hot was he; 

And he sat down upon the bank, 
Under the willow tree. 


“There came a man from the neighboring town, 
At the well to fill his pail; 
On the weli-side he rested it, 
And he bade the stranger hail. 


‘‘ Now art thou a bachelor, stranger?” quoth he 
‘6 For an * if thou hast a wife, 

The happiest draught.thou hast drunk this day, 
‘That ever thou didst in thy life. 


‘Or has thy good woman—if one thou hast— 
Ever here, in Cornwall been? 

Wor an * if she have, Ill venture my life, 
She has drunk of the well of St Keyne.” 


**T have left a good woman, who never was here, 
The stranger he made reply ; 


*An is here an obsolete word signifying cf. 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 219 


‘But that my draught should be better for that, 
I pray you, answer me why.” 


“St. Keyne,’’ quoth the Cornish-man, ‘many a time 
Drank of this crystal well, 

And before the angel summoned her, 
She laid on the water a spell. 


“If the husband, of this gifted well od 
Shall drink before his wife, 

A happy man thenceforth is he, 
For he shall be master for life. 


‘But if the wife should drink of it first,— 
God help the husband, then !”’ 

The stranger stooped to the well of St. Keyne, 
And drank of the water again. 


“You drank of the well, I warrant, betimes !”’ 
He to the Cornish-man said: 

But the Cornish-man smiled, as the stranger spake, 
And sheepishly shook his head. , 


‘*T hastened, as soon as the wedding was done, 
And left my wife in the porch; 

But, i’ faith! she had been wiser than I, 
For she took a bottle to church.’’—Souruey. 


.7 


LESSON XCVI. 


ELEGY ON MADAM BLAIZE. 


Goop people all, with one accord, 
Lament for Madam Blaize; 

Who never wanted a good word— 
From those who spoke her praise. 


The needy seldom passed her door, 
And always found her kind; 

She freely lent to all the poor— 
Who left a pledge behind. 


She strove the neighborhood to please, 
With manner wondrous winning; 

She never followed wicked ways— 
Unless when she was sinning. 


At church; in silks and satins new, 
With hoop. of monstrous size, 
She never slumbered in her pew— 
But when she shut her eyes. 


220 MGUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


Her love was sought, I do aver, 
By twenty beaux, or more ; 

The king himself has followed her— 
When she has walked before. 


But now, her wealth and finery fled, 
Her hangers-on cut short all, 
Her doctors found, when she was dead— 
me . Her last disorder mortal. 


Let us lament, in sorrow sore; 
For Kent-street well may say, 

That, had she lived a twelvemonth more— 
She had not died to-day.—GoLpsmiTH. 


B LESSON XCVILI. 
ON THE AMERICAN WAR. 


1 cannot, my lords, I will not, join in congratulation on mis- 
fortune and disgrace. ‘This, my lords, is a perilous and tremen- 
dous moment. It is not a time for adulation: the smoothness of 
flattery cannot save us, in this rugged and awful crisis. It is now 
necessary to instruct the throne in the language of truth. We 
must, if possible, dispel the delusion and darkness which envelop 
it; and display, in its full danger and genuine colors, the ruin 
which is brought to our doors. Can parliament be so dead to 
its true dignity and duty, as to give their support to measures 
thus obtruded and forced upon them? Measures, my lords, 
which have reduced this late flourishing empire to scorn and con- 
tempt! ‘But yesterday, and Britain might have stood against 
the world; now, none so’ poor to do her reverence.’’ The 
-people, whom we at first despised as rebels, but whom we now 
acknowledge as enemies, are abetted against us, supplied with 
every military store, have their interest consulted, and their em- 
bassadors entertained by our inveterate enemy; and ministers do 
not, and dare not, interpose with dignity or effect. 

‘The desperate state of our army abroad is in part known. No 
man more highly esteems and honors the British troops, than I 
do. I know their virtues and their valor. I know they can 
achieve any thing but impossibilities; and I know that the con- 
quest of British America is an impossibility. You cannot, my 
lords, you cannot conquer America. What is your present situ- 
ation there? We do not know the worst; but we know that 
in three campaigns we have done nothing, and suffered much. 
You may swell every expense, accumulate every assistance, and 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 221 


extend your traffic to the shambles of every German despot: 
your attempts will be forever impotent; doubly so, indeed, from 
this mercenary aid on which you rely; for it irritates, to an in- 
urable resentment, the minds of your adversaries, to overrun 
them with the mercenary sons of rapine and. plunder, devoting 
them and their possessions to the rapacity of hireling cruelty. 
If I were an American, as [ am an Englishman, while a foreign 
troop was landed in my country, I never would lay down my 
arms; never—NEVER—NEVER! 

But, my lords, who is the man, that, in addition to the dis- 
graces and mischief of the war, has daredto authorize and asso- 
ciate to our arms, the tomahawk and scalping-knife of the sav- 
age ? to call into civilized alliance, the wild and inhuman inhab- 
itant of the woods? to delegate to the merciless Indian the de- 
fense of disputed righis, and to wage the horrors of his barbar- 
ous war against our brethren? My lords, these enormities cry 
aloud for redress and punishment. But, my lords, this barbar- 
ous measure has been defended, not only on the principles of 
policy and necessity, but also on those of morality; “for it is 
perfectly allowable,’’ says Lord Suffolk, “to use all the means 
which God and nature have put into our hands.”’ I am aston- 
ished, | am shocked, to hear such principles confessed; to hear 
them avowed in this house, or in this country. 

My lords, I did not intend to encroach so much on your atten- 
tion, but I cannot repress my indignation—I feel myself impelled 
to speak. My lords, we are called upon, as members of this 
house, as men, as Christians, to protest against such horrible 
barbarity. ‘'That God and nature have put into our hands !” 
What ideas of God and nature that noble lord may entertain, I 
know not; but I know, that such detestable principles are equal- 
ly abhorrent to religion and humanity. What! to attribute the 
sacred sanction of God and nature to the massacres of the Indian 
scalping-knife ! to the cannibal savage, torturing, murdering, DE- 
vourinG, DRINKING the blood of his mangled victims! Such- 
notions shock every precept of morality, every feeling of hu- 
manity, every sentiment of honor. These abominable princi- 
ples, and this more abominable avowal of them, demand the most 
decisive indignation. 

I call upon that right reverend, and this most learned bench, 
to vindicate the religion of their God, to support the justice of 
their country. I call upon the bishops, to interpose their unsul- 
lied sanctity; upon the judges, to interpose the purity of their 
ermine, to save us from this pollution. I call upon the honor of 
your lordships, to reverence the dignity of your ancestors, and 
to maintain yourown. I call upon the spirit and humanity of 
my country, to vindicate the national character. I invoke the 


22m M'’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


Genius of the Constitution. From the tapestry that adorns 
these walls, the immortal ancestor of this noble lord frowns with 
indignation, at the disgrace of his country. In vain did he de- 
fend the liberty, and establish the religion of Britain, aéainst the 
tyranny of Rome, if these worse than popish cruelties, and in- 
quisitorial practices, are endured among us. ‘T'o send forth the 
merciless cannibal, thirsting for blood! Against whom ?—your 
protestant brethren !—to lay waste their country, to desolate 
their dwellings, and extirpate their race and name, by the aid 
and instrumentality of these horrible hounds of war. 

‘Spain can no longer boast pre-eminence in barbarity.. She 
armed herself with blood-hounds, to extirpate the wretched 
natives of Mexico; we, more ruthless, loose the dogs of war 
against our countrymen in Ameriea, endeared to us by every tie 
that can sanctify humanity. I solemnly call upon your lord- 
ships, and upon every order of men in the state, to stamp upon 
this infamous procedure, the indelible stigma of the public abhor- 
rence. More particularly, I call upon the holy prelates of our 
religion, to do away this iniquity; let them perform a lustration, 
to purify the country from this deep and deadly sin. My lords, 
I am old and weak, and at present unable to say more; but my 
feelings and indignation were too strong to have said less. I 
could not have slept this night in my bed, nor even reposed 
my head upan my pillow, without giving vent to my eternal ab- 
horrence of such enormous and preposterous principles.—Lorp 
CHATHAM. 


LESSON XCVIIL. 


SUPPOSED SPEECH OF JOHN ADAMS, UPON THE 
DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE. 


Mr. Webster, in a speech upon the life and character of John Adams, im- 
agines some one opposed to the Declaration of Independence, to have stated 
his fears and objections before Congress, while deliberating on that subject, 
He then supposes Mr. Adams to have replied, in language like the follow- 
ing. 

Sink or swim, live or die, survive or perish, I give my hand 
and my heart to this vote. It is true, indeed, that in the begin- 
ning, we aimed not at independence. But there is a Divinity 
which shapes our ends. ‘The injustice of England has driven 
us to arms; and blinded to her own interest, she has obstinately 
persisted, till independence is now within our grasp. We have 
but to reach forth to it, and itis ours. Why then should we de- 
fer the declaration? Is any man so weak, as now to hope for a 
reconciliation with England, which shall leave either safety to 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 223 


the country and its liberties, or safety to his own life, and his 
own honor! Are not you, sir, who sit in that chair,* is not he, 
our venerable colleague, near you,t are you not both, already the 
proseribed and predestined objects of punishment and of ven- 
geance? Cut off from all hope of royal clemeney, what are 
you, what can you be, while the power of England remains, but 
ouilaws ? 

If we postpone independence, do we mean to carry on, or to 
give up the war? Do we mean to submit, and consent that we 
shall be ground to powder, and our country and its rights trodden 
down in the dust? I know we do not mean to submit... We 
NEVER Shall submit! Do we intend to violate that most solemn 
obligation ever entered into by men, that plighting, before God, 
of our sacred honor to Washington, when, putting him forth to in- 
cur the dangers of war, as weil as the political hazards of the 
times, we promised to adhere to him in every extremity, with 
our fortunes and our lives? I know there is not a man_ here, 
who would not rather see a general conflagration sweep over the 
land, or an earthquake sink it, than one jot or tittle of that plight- 
ed faith fall to the ground. For myself, having twelve months 
ago, in this place, moved you, that George Washington be ap- 
pointed commander of the forces raised, or to be raised for the 
defense of American liberty; may my right hand forget her cun- 
ning, and my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth, if I hesitate 
or waver in the support I give him. 

The war, then, must go on. We must fightit through. And 
if the war must go on, why put off the Declaration of Indepen- 
dence? ‘That measure will strengthen us. It will give us 
character abroad. Nations will then treat with us, which they 
never can do, while we acknowledge ourselves subjects in arms 
against our sovereign. Nay, I maintain that England herself, 
will sooner treat for peace with us, on the footing of indepen- 
dence, than consent, by repealing her acts, to acknowledge that 
her whole conduct towards us has been a course of injustice 
and oppression. Her pride will be less wounded by submitting 
to that course of things, which now predestinates our indepen- 
dence, than by yielding the points in controversy to her rebel- 
lious subjects. The former, she would regard as the result 
of fortune ; the latter, she would feel as her own deep disgrace. 
Why, then, do we not, as soon.as possible, change this from a 
civil to a national war? And since we must fight it through, 
why not put ourselves in a state to enjoy all the benefits of vic- 
tory, if we gain the victory ? 

If we fail, it can be no worse for us. But we shall not fail. 


* John Hancock, t+ Samucl Adams. 


-224 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


The cause will raise up armies; the cause will create navies. 
The people, the people, if we are true to them, will carry us, 
and will carry themselves, gloriously through this struggle. I 
care not how fickle other people have been found. JI know the 
people of these colonies ; and I know that resistance to British 
aggression, is deep and settled in their hearts, and cannot be 
eradicated. Sir, the Declaration of Independence will inspire 
the people with increased courage. Instead of a long and 
bloody war for the restoration of privileges, for redress of 
erievances, for chartered immunities, held under a British king, 
set before them the glorious object of entire independence, and 
it will breathe into them anew the spirit of life. 3 

Read this declaration at the head of the army ; every sword will 
be drawn from its seabbard, and the solemn vow uttered to main- 
tain it, or perish on the bed of honor. Publish it from the pulpit; 
religion will approve it, and the love of religious liberty will cling 
around it, resolved to stand with it, or fall with it. Send it to the 
public halls; proclaim it there ; let them see it, who saw their broth- 
ers and their sons fall on the field of Bunker Hill, and in the 
streets of Lexington and Concord, and the very walls will cry 
out in its support. 

Sir, [ know the uncertainty of human affairs, but I see, I see 
clearly through this day’s business. You and I, indeed, may 
rue it, We may not live to the time when this declaration shall 
be made good. We may die; die colonists; die slaves; die, it 
may be, ignominiously, and on the scaffold. Be itso. Be it so. 
If it be the pleasure of Heaven that my country shall require the 
poor offering of my life, the victim shall be ready at the appoint- 
ed hour of sacrifice, come when that hour may. But while I 
do live, let me have a country, or at least the hope of a country, 
and that a FREE country. 

But whatever may be our fate, be assured, be assured that this 
declaration will stand. It may cost treasure, and it may cost 
blood ; but it will stand, and it will richly compensate for both. 
Through the thick gloom of the present, I see the brightness of 
the future, as the sun in heaven. We shall make this a glori- 
ous, an immortal day. When we are in our graves, our chil 
dren will honor it. ‘They will celebrate it with thanksgiving, 
with festivity, with bonfires, and illuminations. On its annual 
return, they will shed tears, copious, gushing tears; not of sub- 
jection and slavery, not of agony and distress, but of exultation, 
of gratitude, and of joy. 

Sir, before God, | believe the hour is come. My judgment 
approves the measure, and my whole heart isin it. All that I 
have, and all that I am, and all that I hope in this life, I am 
now ready here to stake upon it; and I leave off as I began, 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 225 


that, live or die, survive or perish, I am for the declaration. It 
is my living sentiment, and, by the blessing of God, it shall be 
my dying sentiment; independence now, and INDEPENDENCE 
FOREVER.—DanieEL WEBSTER. 


LESSON XCIX. 
DEATH AND CHARACTER OF QUEEN ELIZABETH. 


Tue Earl of Essex, after his return from the fortunate expe- 
dition against Cadiz, observing the increase of the queen’s fond 
attachment towards him, took occasion to regret that the neces- 
sity of her service required him often to be absent from her per- 
son, and exposed him to all those ill offices, which his enemies, 
more assiduous in their attendance, could employ against him. 
She was moved with this tender jealousy, and making him the 
present of a ring, desired him to keep that pledge of her affection, 
and assured him, that, into whatever disgrace he should fall, what- 
eyer prejudices she might be induced- to entertain against him, 
yet if he sent her that ring, she would immediately, upon sight 
of it, recall her former tenderness ; would afford. him a patient 
hearing, and would lend a favorable ear to his apology. 

Essex, notwithstanding all his misfortunes, reserved this 
precious gift to the last extremity; but after his trial and con- 
demnation, he resolved to try the experiment, and he committed 
' the ring to the Countess of Nottingham, whom he desired to 
deliver it to the queen. ‘The countess was prevailed on by her 
husband, the mortal enemy of Essex, not to execute the commis- 
sion; and Elizabeth, who still expected that her favorite would 
make this last appeal to her tenderness, and who ascribed the 
neglect of it to his invincible obstinacy, was, after much delay, 
and many internal combats, pushed, by resentment and policy, 
to sign the warrant for his execution. 

The Countess of Nottingham falling into sickness, and affect- 
ed with the near approach of death, was seized with remorse for 
her conduct; and having obtained a visit from the queen, she 
craved her pardon, and revealed the fatal secret. The queen, 
astonished with this incident, burst into a furious passion: she 
shook the dying countess in her bed; and crying to her, 7'hat 
God might pardon her, but she never could,—she broke from 
her, and thenceforth resigned herself over to the deepest and 
most incurable melancholy. She resisted all consolation; she 
even refused food and sustenance; and throwing herself on the 
floor, she remained sullen and immovable, feeding her thoughts 
on her afflictions, and declaring life and existence an intolerable 


226 M’GUFFEY'S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


burden to her. Few words she uttered; and they were all ex- 
pressive of some inward grief which she cared not to reveal; 
but sighs and groans were the chief vent which she gave to her 
despondency, and which, though they discovered her sorrows, 
were never able to ease or assuage them. 

Ten days and nights, she lay upon the carpet, leaning on 
cushions which her maids brought her; and her physicians 
could not persuade her to allow herself to be put to bed, much 
less to make trial of any remedies which they prescribed to her. 
Her anxious mind, at last, had so long preyed upon her frail 
body, that her end was visibly approaching ; and the council 
being assembled, sent the keeper, admiral, and secretary, to 
know her will with regard to her successor. She answered 
with a faint voice, that as she had held a regal scepter, she 
desired no other than a royal successor. Cecil requesting her 
to explain herself more particularly, she subjoined, that she 
would have a king to sueceed her; and who should that be, but 
her nearest kinsman, the King of Scots! Being then advised by 
the Archbishop of Canterbury to fix her thoughts upon God, 
she replied, that she did so, nor did her mind, in the least, wan- 
der from Him. Her voice, soon after, left her; her senses 
failed; she fell into a lethargic slumber, which continued some. 
hours; and she expired gently, without farther struggle or con- 
vulsion, in the seventieth year of her age, and forty-fifth of her 
reign. So dark a cloud overcast the evening of that day, which 
had shone out with a mighty luster, in the eyes of all Europe! 

There are few great personages in history,who have been 
more exposed to the calumny of enemies, and the adulation of 
friends, than Queen Elizabeth; and yet, there is scarcely any 
whose reputation has been more certainly determined by the 
unanimous consent of posterity.. Tbe unusual length of her 
administration, and the strong features of her character, were 
able to overcome all prejudices; and, obliging her detractors to 
abate much of their invectives, and her admirers somewhat of 
their panegyrics, have at last, in spite of political factions, and 
(what is more) religious animosities, produced a uniform judg- . 
ment with regard to her conduct. 

Her vigor, her constancy, her magnanimity, her penetration 
vigilance, and address, are allowed to merit the highest praises, 
and appear not to have been surpassed by any person that ever 
filled the throne; a conduct less rigorous, less imperious, more 
sincere, more indulgent to her people, would have been requisite 
to form a perfect character. By the force of her mind, she con- 
trolled all her more active and stronger qualities, and prevented 
them from running into excess: her heroism was exempt from 
temerity, her frugality from avarice, her friendship from par- 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. Oe 


tiality, her active temper from turbulency and a vain ambition; 
she guarded not herself with equal care and equal success, from 
lesser infirmities; the rivalship of beauty, the desire of admira- 
tion, the jealousy of love, and the sallies of anger. 

Her singular talents for government, were founded equally on 
her temper, and on her capacity. Endowed with a great com- 
mand over herself, she soon obtained an uncontrolled ascendency 
over her people ; and while she merited all their esteem by her 
real virtues, she also engaged their aflections by her pretended 
ones. I'ew sovereigns of England succeeded to the throne in 
more difficult circumstances, and none ever conducted the govern- 
ment with such uniform success and felicity. ‘Though unacquaint- 
ed with the practice of toleration, the true secret for managing re- 
ligious factions, she preserved her people, by her superior pru- 
dence, from those confusions in which theological controversy 
had involved all the neighboring nations; and though her ene- 
mies were the most powerful princes of Europe, the most active, 
the most enterpising, the least scrupulous, she was able, by her 
vigor, to make deep impressions on their states ; her own great- 
ness, meanwhile, remaining untouched and unimpaired. 

The fame of this princess, though it has surmounted the preju- 
dices both of faction and bigotry, yet lies still exposed to a preju- 
dice, which is more durable, because more natural; and which, 
according to the different views in which-we survey her, is capa- 
ble, either of exalting beyond measure, or diminishing the luster 
of her chararacter. ‘This prejudice is founded on the considera- 
tion of her sex. When we contemplate her as a woman, we 
are apt to be struck with the highest admiration of her great 
qualities and extensive capacity; but we are also apt to require 
somewhat more softness of disposition, some greater lenity of 
temper, some of those amiable weaknesses, by which her sex is 
distinguished. But the true method of estimating her merit, is 
to lay aside all these considerations, and consider her merely as 
a rational being, placed in authority, and intrusted with the gov- 
ernment of mankind. We may find it difficult to reconcile our 
fancy to her as a wife or a mistress, but her qualities as a sov- 
ereign, though with some considerable exceptions, are the object 
of undisputed applause and approbation.—Hume. 


/ 


228 M'GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


LESSON C. 


THE FALL OF CARDINAL WOLSEY, FROM THE 
FAVOR OF HENRY VIII. 


Wolsey. Farewe., a long farewell to all my greatness ! 
This is the state of man: to-day, he puts forth 
The tender leaves of hope; to-morrow, blossoms, 
And bears his blushing honors thick upon him ; 
‘The third day,comes a frost, a killing frost, 
And,—when he thinks, good, easy man, full surely 


me 


se RD ES OTTER DO 


His greatness is a ripening—nips his root, 

And then he falls, as Ido. I have ventured,— 
Like little, wanton boys, that swim on bladders,— 
: These many summers, in a sea of glory, 
But far beyond my depth; ; my high-blown pride 
} At length broke under me; and now has left me, 
Weary, and old with service, to the mercy 
Of a rude stream, that must forever hide me. 
i ie 2 
Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye; 
I feel my heart new opened. O, how wrete hed 
Ts that poor man, that hangs on princes’ favors! 
There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to, 
That aspect sweet of princes, and their ruin, 
More pangs and fears, than wars or women have, 
And when he falls, he falls like eg 
Never to hope again. 


hn 


Enter eer amazedly. 


Why, how now, Cromwell ? 
Crom. I nave no power to speak, sir. 
Wol. What! amazed 
At my misfortunes? Can thy spirit wonder, 
A great man should decline? Nay, if you weep, 
T am fallen indeed. 
Crom. How does your grace? 
Wol. Why, well; 
Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell. 
I know myself now; and I feel within me 
A peace above all earthly dignities, 
A still and quiet conscience. ‘The king has cured me, 
I humbly thank his grace; and from these shoulders, 
These ruined pillars, out of pity, taken 
A load would sink a navy,—too much honor: 
O, ’tis a burden, Cromwell, ’tis a burden, 
Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven. 
Crom. Jam glad your grace has made that right use of it. 
Wol. UhopeLhave. Jam able now, methinks, 
Out of a fortitude of soul I feel, 
To endure more miseries, and greater far, 
Than my weak-hearted enemies dare offer. 
What news abroad? " 
\ 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 


rom. The heaviest, and the worst, 
Is your displeasure * with the king. 
Wol. God bless him ! 


Crom. The next is, that Sir Thomas More is chosen 


Lord Chancellor in your place. 

Wol. That ’s somewhat sudden: 
But he ’s a learned man. May he continue 
Long in his highness’ favor, and do justice 
For truth’s sake, and his conscience; that his bones, 
When he has run his course, and sleeps in blessings, 
May have a tomb of orphans’ tears wept on ’em! 
What more? 

Crom. ‘That Cranmer is returned with welcome, 
Install’d Lord Archbishop of Canterbury. 

Wol. 'That’s news indeed! 

Crom. Last, that the Lady Anne, 
Whom the king hath in secrecy long married, 
This day was viewed in public, as his queen, 
Going to chapel; and the voice is now 
Only about her coronation. 


229 


Wol. ‘There was the weight that pulled me down. O Cromwell, 


The king has gone beyond me: all my glories 
In that one woman I have lost for ever: 
No sun shall ever usher forth mine honors, 
Or gild again the noble troops that waited 
Upon my smiles. Go, get thee ‘from me, Cromwell; 
I am a poor, fallen man, unworthy now 
To be thy lord and master. Seck the king; 
That sun, I pray, may never set! I have told him 
What and how true thou art: he will advance thee; 
Some little memory of me will stir him 
(I know his noble nature) not to let 
Thy hopeful service perish too. Good Cromwell, 
Neglect him not; make use now, and provide 
For thine own future safety. 

Crom. O, my lord, 
Must I then leave you? Must I needs forego 
So good, so noble,and so true a master? 
_ Bear witness, all that have not hearts of iron, 
With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord ; 
The king shail have my service, but my prayers 
For ever and for ever,shall be yours. 

Wol. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear 
In all my miseries; but thou hast forced me, 
Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman. 
Let ’s dry our eyes: and thus far hear me, Cromwell; 
And—when I am forgotten, as I shall be, 
And sleep in dull, cold marble, where no mention 
Of me more must be heard of—say, I taught thee; 
Say, Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory, 


* Here used for disgrace. 


230 M'’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


And sounded all the depths and shoals of honor, 
Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in; 
A sure and safe one, though thy master missed it. 
Mark but my fall, and that that ruined me. 
Cromwell, I charge thee fling away ambition; 
By that sin fell the angels; how can man, then, 
The image of his Maker, hope to win by ’t? 
Love thyself last; cherish those hearts that hate thee. 
Corruption wins not more than honesty. 
Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, 
To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not; 
Let all the ends thou aim’st at be thy country’s, 
Thy God’s, and truth’s; then,if thou fall’st, O Cromwell, 
Thou fall’st a blessed martyr. Serve the king;— 
And,—pr’ythee, lead me in. 
There, take an inventory of all I have, 
To the last penny; ’tis the king’s: my robe, 
And my integrity to Heaven, is all 
I dare now call my own. O Cromwell, Cromwell, 
Ifad I but served my God with half the zeal 
I served my king, he would not, in mine age, 
Have left me naked to mine enemies. | 

Crom. Good sir, have patience. 

Wol. So Tl have. Farewell 
The hopes of court! my hopes in heaven do dwell.—SHaksPrarg. 


LESSON CI. 
DEATH AND CHARACTER OF CARDINAL WOLSEY. 


Queen Catherine. Didst thou not tell me, Griffith, as thou led’st me, 
That the great child of honor, Cardinal Wolsey, 
Was dead ? 
Griffith. Yes, madam; but, I think, your grace, 
Out of the pain you suffered, gave no ear to ’t. 
Q. Cath. Pr’ythee, good Griffith, tell me how he died: 
If well, he stepped before me, happily, 
For my example. 
Grif. Well, the voice goes, madam: 
For, after the stout Earl Northumberland 
Arrested him at York, and brought him forward 
(As a man sorely tainted) to his answer, 
He fell sick suddenly, and grew so ill, 
IIe could not sit his mule. 
Q. Cath. Alas ! poor man! 
Grif. At last, with easy roads, he came to Leicester, 
Lodged in the Abbey; where the reverend abbot, 
With all his convent, honorably received him; 
To whom he gave these words,—* O, father abbot, 
An old man, broken with the storms of state, 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES, 231 


Is come to lay his weary bones among ye; 
Give him a little earth for charity !” 

So went to bed ; where eagerly his sickness 
Pursued him still; and, three nights after this, 
About the hour of eight, (which he himself 
Foretold should be his last,) full of repentance, 
Continued meditations, tears, and sorrows, 

He gave his honors to the world again, 

His blessed part to heaven, and slept in peace. 

Q. Cath. So may he rest; his faults lie gently on him! 
Yet thus far, Griffith, give me leave to speak him, 
And yet with charity. He was a man 
Of an unbounded stomach, ever ranking 
Himself with princes; one, that by suggestion 
Tied all the kingdom; simony was fair play; 

His own opinion. was his law; in the presence,* 
He would say untruths, and be ever double, 
Both in his words and meaning. He was never, 
But where he meant to ruin, pitiful; 

His promises were, as he was, mighty ; 

But his performance, as he 7s, nothing. 

Grif. Noble Madam, 

Men’s evil manners live in brass; their virtues 
We write in water. May it please your highness 
To hear me speak his good, now ? 


Q. Cath. Yes, good Griffith; 
I were malicious else. ' 
Grif. This cardinal, 


Though from an humble stock, undoubtedly 

Was fashioned to much honor. [rom his cradle 

He was a scholar, and a ripe and good one; 

Exceeding wise, fair spoken, and persuading ; 

Lofty and sour, to them that loved him not; 

But to those men that sought him, sweet as summer; 

And, though he were unsatisfied in getting, 

(Which was a sin,) yet, in bestowing, Madam, 

He was most princely. Ever witness for him 

Those twins of learning, that he raised in you, 

Ipswich and Oxford: one of which feil with him, 

Unwilling to outlive the good that did it; 

The other, though unfinished, yet so famous, 

So excellent in art, and still so rising, 

That Christendom shall ever speak his virtue. 

His overthrow heaped happiness upon him; 

For then, and not till then, he felt himself, 

And found the blessedness of being little; 

And, to add greater honors to his age 

Than man could give him, he died fearing God. 
@. Cath. After my death, I wish no other herald, 

No other speaker of my living actions, 


* In the presence of the king. 


“Sy at ee 


232 M'GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


‘lo keep mine honor from corruption, 

But such an honest chronicler as Griffith. 

Whom I most hated living, thou hast made me, 

With thy religious truth and modesty, 

Now in his ashes, honor. Peace be with him !—Suaxsprare. 


LESSON CII 
CHARACTER OF LOUIS FOURTEENTH. 


Concernine Louis the Fourteenth, the world seems, at last, 
to have formed a correct judgment. He was not a great gen- 
eral; he was not a great statesman; but he was, in one sense 
of the word, a great king. Never was there so consummate a 
master of what James the First of England called king-craft— 
of all those arts which most advantageously display the merits 
of a prince, and most completely hide his defects. 

Though his internal administration was bad; though the 
military triumphs which gave splendor to the early part of his 
reign, were not achieved by himself; though his later years 
were crowded with defects and humiliations; though he was so 
ignorant that he scarcely understcod the Latin of his mass-book ; 
though he fell under the control of a cunning Jesuit, and of a 
more cunning old woman; he sueceeded in passing himself off 
on his people as a being above humanity. And this is the more 
extraordinary, because he did not seclude himself from the pub- 
lic gaze, like those Oriental despots whose faces are never seen, 
and whose very names it is a crime to pronounce lightly. 

It has been said, that no man is a hero to his valet; and all 
the world saw as much of Louis the Fourteenth, as his valet 
could see. Five hundred people assembled to see him shave 
and put on his clothes in the morning. He then kneeled down 
at the side of his bed, and said his prayers, while the whole 
assembly awaited the end in solemn silence, the ecclesiastics on 
their knees, and the laymen with their hats before their faces. 
He walked about his gardens, with a train of two hundred cour- 
tiers at his heels. All Versailles came to see him dine and sup. 
He was put to bed at night, in the midst of a crowd as great as 
that which had met to see him rise in the morning. He took 
his very emetics in state, and vomited majestically in the pres- 
ence of all his nobles. Yet, though he constantly exposed 
himself to the public gaze, in situations in which it is scarcely 
possible for any man to preserve much personal dignity, he, to 
the last, impressed those who surrounded him, with the deepest 
awe and reverence. 

‘The illusion which he produced on his worshipers, can be 


2 


OF THE®*ECLECTIC SERIES. =" 203 


* 


ime in? 
> . . . me 
. compared only to those illusions, to which lovers are prover- 


bially subject, during the season of courtship. It was an illu- 
sion which affected even the senses.. ‘Vhe contemporaries of 
Louis thought him tall. Voltaire, who might have seen him, 
and who had lived with some of the most distinguished mem- 
bers,of his court, speaks repeatedly of his majestic stature. 
Yet, it is as certain as any fact can be, that he was rather ” 
below than above the middle size. He had, it seems, a way 
of holding himself, a way of walking, a way of swelling his 
chest and rearing his head, which deceived the eyes of the 
multitude. Eighty years after his death, the royal cemetery 
was violated by the revolutionists; his coffin was opened; his 
body was dragged out; and it appeared, that the prince whose 
majestic figure had been so long and loudly extolled, was in 
truth a little man. 

His person and government have had the same fate. He had 
the art of making both appear grand and august, in spite of the 
clearest evidence that both were below the ordinary standard. 
Death and time have exposed both the deceptions. The body 
of the great king has been measured more justly than it was 
measured by the courtiers, who were afraid to look above his 
shoe-tie. His public character has been scrutinized by men 
free from the hopes and fears of Boileau and Moliere.* In the 
grave, the most majestic of princes is only five feet eight. In 
history, the hero and the politician dwindle into a vain and 
feeble tyrant, the slave of priests and women, little in war, 
little in government, little in every thing but the art of simulating 
greatness, 

He left to his infant successor, a famished and miserable 
people, a beaten and humbled army, provinces turned into des- 
erts by misgovernment and persecution, factions dividing the 
army, a schism raging in. the court, an immense debt, an innu- 
merable’ household, inestimable jewels and furniture. All the 
sap and nutriment of the state seemed to have been drawn, to 
feed one bloated and unwholesome excrescence. ‘The nation” 
was withered. The court was morbidly. flourishing. Yet, it 
does not appear that the associations, which attached the people 
to the monarchy, had lost strength during his reign. He had 
neglected or sacrificed their dearest interests, but he had struck 
their imaginations. ‘The very things which ought to have made 
him unpopular,—the prodigies of luxury. and magnificence with 


-._ which his person was surrounded, while, beyond the inclosure 
of his parks, nothing was to be seen but starvation and despair,— 


seemed to increase the respectful attachment which his people 
felt for him.-—-Macavunay. 


ee 


* Pronounced Bwi-lo and Mo-le-air. 


20 


, aN EP ULE 6 Pee wre Oe ee ee 
, * Pin: se or ; _ ‘ i * 
it 4 ar hn, y } . v ~ a rm 
aii . ee tY a“ ” * 
Err 9 . 


234 = -- M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE a 
| eo * ba % ae 


LESSON CL” * ea 


A PETITION TO THOSE-WHO HAVE THE CARE OF ~ 
YOUTH. e... 


I appress myself to all the friends of youth, and | conjure them 


‘to direct their compassionate regards to my unhappy fate, in order 


to remove the prejudices of which I am the victim. There are 


twin sisters of us; and the eyes of man do not more closely ~~ 
resemble, nor are capable of being upon better terms with, each » 


other, than my sister and myself, were it not for the partiality 
of my parents, who make the most injurious distinctions be- 


tween us. i. 


From my infancy, | have been led to consider my sister as a 
being of a more elevated rank. I was suffered to grow up with- 
out the least instruction, while nothing was spared in her educa-_ 
tion. She had masters to teach her writing, drawing, music, 
and other accomplishments ; but if I, by chance, touched a pen= 
cil, a pen, or avneedle, I was bitterly rebuked: and more than 
once I have been beaten for being awkward, and wanting a 
graceful manner. It is true, my sister associated me with her, 
upon some occasions; but she always made a point of taking 
the lead, calling upon me only from necessity, or to figure by 
her side. é 

But conceive not, sirs, that my complaints are instigated mere 


ly by vanity. No;—my uneasiness is occasioned by an object 


much more serious. It is the practice in our family, that the 
whole business of providing for its subsistence falls upon my 
sister and myself. If any indisposition should attack my sister ; 


(and I mention it in confidence upon this occasion, that she is 


subject to the gout, the rheumatism, and cramp, without maki 

mention of other accidents ;) what would be the fate of otir poor 
family! Must not the regret of our parents be ext *> at 
having placed so great a difference between sisters who are per- 
fectly equal? Alas! we must perish from distress ; for it would 


not be in my power even to scrawl a suppliant petition, having. _ 


been obliged to.employ the hand of another in trafipersDingr tse: 
. request which I have now the honor to prefer you. 


Condescend, sirs, to make my parents sensible of thetic 
of an exclusive tenderness, and of the necessity of distributing 
their care and affection among all their children, equally. ~ 

I am, with profound respect, ee 
Sirs, your obedient servant, 


epee ms ge > ee a 


THE LEFT HAND (Paani, k, 


*<£ OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES, S, 235 
” - %,. m , . me i 
‘, LESSON CIV. oe 

~ .  * | ‘*pDRESS TO A MUMMY. 


Ir was the custom of the ancient Egyptians to embalm their dead; and to 
preserve the form and perfect appearance of each limb, even to the fingers | 
and toes, by winding around them narrow strips of linen, prepared in a man- 
ner which is not now known. Bodies have been preserved in this manner, 
for a period of more than two thousand years, and are, to this day, found in 

reat numbers in ancient sepulchers. Some of these have been brought to 

ngland and other parts of Europe, and to America. Bodies thus preserved 

- are called Zummies, and it was one of these, brought by the celebrated trav- 

eler Belzoni, and placed in a museum at London, which gave rise to this 
poca. 

.  Axnp*thou hast walked about, (how strange a story!) 

In ‘Thebes’ streets, three thousand years ago, 
When the Memnonium was in allits glory, 
as And time had not begun to overthrow. 

Those temples, palaces, and piles stupendous, 
Of which the very ruins are tremendous. 


Speak! for thou long enough hast acted Dummy, 

~ Thou hast a tongzue—come, let us hear its tune; 

Thou ’rt standing on thy legs, above ground, Mummy! 
Revisiting the glimpses of the moon, “" 

Not like thin ghosts or disembodied creatures, 


But with thy bones,and flesh, and limbs, and features. 


Tell us—for doubtless thou canst recollect, 
To whom should we assign the sphynx’s fame? He 
Was Cheops or Cephrenes architect ee 
Of either pyramid that bears his name? 
rs pillar really a misnomer ? 
Had Thebes a hundred gates, as sung by Homer? ° 


- ae 3 

. Perhaps thou wert. a Mason, and forbidden 

By oath to tell the mysteries of thy trade, 
Phen say, what secret melody was hidden 

* In Memnon’s statue that at sunrise played ? 
Perhaps thou wert a priest—if so, my struggles 


Are vain;—Hgyptian priests ne’er owned their juggles. 


at 


rs 


“a i Perehance that very hand, now pinioned flat, © 
_ Has hob-or-nobb’d with Pharach, glass to glass; 
Or dropped a halfpenny in Homer’s hat; . 
Or doffed thine own, to let Queen Dido pass, 
Or heid, by Solomon’s own invitation, 
A torch i, the great Temple’s dedication. 


. 


I need not ask thee if that hand, when armed, 
___ Has any Roman soldier mauled and knuckled; 
ite For thou wert dead, and buried, and embalmed, 


Sap eure Homulus sae Renin had’been suckled :— 
ay * a 4 oy rg : ~ 


soe 5 : gg a 
x *, Bs : ¥ 


* 
Rie ai 7 


ee de e 
SS ed 
: 49S dag Ye 


236 


Rs, 


ie, te ee ae 


M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE a>" 


~ 


Antiquity appears to have begun, _ : 
Long after thy primeval race was run. 


Since first thy form was in this box extended, ~ +. 


We have, above ground, seen some strange mutations; | 


The Roman empire has begun and ended; 

New worlds have risen; we have lost old nations; 
And countless kings have into dust been humbled, 
While not a fragment of thy flesh has crumbled. 


% 


Didst thou not hear the pother o’er thy head, 
When the great Persian conqueror, Cambyses, 
March’d armies o’er thy tomb with thundering tread, 
O’erthrew Osiris,* Orus,* Apis,* Isis,* n 
And shook the pyramids with fear and wonder, © 
When the gigantic Memnon fell asunder? 


If the tomb’s secrets may not be confessed, 
The nature of thy private life unfold: 
A heart has throbb’d beneath that leathern breast, 
And tears adown that dusky cheek have rolled: 
Have children climb’d those knees, and kissed that face ? 
What was thy name and station, age and race? 


Statue of flesh! immortal of the dead! * 
Imperishable type of evanescence ! 

Posthumous man, who quitt’st thy narrow bed, 
And standest undecayed within our presence! 

Thou wilt hear nothing till the judgment morning, 

When the great trump shall thrill thee with its warning. 


Why should this worthless terument endure, 
If its undying guest be lost for ever? 


O let us keep the soul embalmed and pure *. 


In living virtue; that,when both must sever, 
Although corruption may our frame consume, 
Th’ immortal spirit in the skies may bloom.—ANonymous. 
ae 


LESSON CV. 
PAPER—A CONVERSATIONAL PLEASANTRY. 


Some wit of old—such wits of old there were, 

Whose hints show’d meaning, whose allusions, care,— 
By one brave stroke, to mark all human kind, 

Call’d clear, blank paper, ev’ry infant mind ; 

Where, still, as opening sense her dictates wrote, 

Fair virtue put a seal, or vice, a blot. 


* These were Egyptian deities. 


mF 7" ~*~ er te 
a : 2 ” 


“*.OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 


The thought was happy, pertinent, and true; 


» Methinks a genius might the plan pursue. 


{, (can you pardon my presumption?) I, 

No wit, no genius, yet, for once, will try. 
Various the paper, various wants produce— 
The wants of fashion, elegance, and use. 
Men are as various; and, if right I scan, 
Each sort of paper represents some man. 


Pray, note the fop, half powder, and half lace; 
Nice, as a band-box were his dwelling place; 
He’s the gilt-paper, which, apart you store, 

And lock from vulgar hands in the scrutoir. 
Mechanics, servants, farmers, and so forth, 

Are copy-paper, of inferior worth; 

Less prized, more useful, for your : desk decreed ; 
Free to all pens, and prompt at ev’ry need. 


The wretch, whom avarice eae’ to pinch and spare, 
Starve, ee and pilfer, to enrich an heir, 

Is coarse brown paper, such as pedlars choose 

To wrap up wares, which better men will use. 


Take next the miser’s contrast—who destroys 
Health, fame, and fortune, in a round of joys; 
Will any paper match him? Yes, throughout; 
He’s a true sinking-paper, past all doubt. 


The retail politician’s anxious thought . 

Deems this side always right, and that,stark ueughteg 
He foams with censure; with applause he raves; 

A dupe to rumors, and a tool of knaves; 

He’ll want no type, his weakness to proclaim, 
While such a thing as foolscap has a name. 


The hasty gentleman, whose blood runs high, 


Who picks a quarrel, if you step awry, 
Who can’t a jest, a hint, or look endure; 
What is he? What? Towck-paper to be sure. 


_~ What are our poets, take’ them as they fall, 


*Good, bad, rich, poor, much read, not read at all 
They, aie their works, in the same class you'll find ; 
They are the mere waste-paper of mankind. 


Observe the maiden! innocently. sweet; 

She’s fair, white-paper, an unsullied sheet ; 

On which the happy man, whom fate ordains, 
“May write his name, and take her for his pains 


237 


Sie 


238 M'GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


One instance more, and only one, Ill bring; 

*Tis the great man, who scorns a little thing; . 
Whose thoughts, whose deeds, whese maxims are his own, 
Form’d on the feelings of his heart alone. 

True, genuine, royal-paper, is his breast; 

Of all the kinds most precious, purest, best.—FRANKLIN. 


LESSON CVI. 


ANECDOTE OF THE DUKE OF NEWCASTLE. 


A laughable story was circulated during the administration of the old Duke 
of Newcastle, and retailed to the public in various forms. ‘This nobleman, 
with many good points, was remarkable for being profuse of his promises 
on all occasions, and valued himself particularly, on being able to anticipate 
the words, or the wants, of the various persons who attended his levees, be- 
fore they uttered a word. This sometimes led him into ridiculous embar- 
rassments ; and it was this proneness to lavish promises, which gave occa- 
sion for the anecdote I am going to relate. 


At the election of a certain borough in Cornwall, where the 
Opposite interests were almost equally poised, a single vote was 
of the highest importance. This object, the Duke, by wellap- 
plied argument and personal application, at length attained ; and 
the gentleman he recommended, gained the election. In the 
warmth of gratitude, his grace poured forth acknowledgments 
and promises without ceasing, on the fortunate possessor of the 
easting vote; called him his best and dearest friend; protested, 
that he should consider himself as for ever indebted to him; 
‘that he would serve him by night or by day. 

The Cornish voter, who was an honest fellow, and would not 
have thought himself entitled to any reward, but for such a tor- 
rent of acknowledgments,—thanked the Duke for his kindness, 
and tuld him, “The supervisor of excise was old and infirm, 
and if he would have the goodness to recommend his-son-in- 
law to the commissioners, in case of the old man’s death, he 
should think himself and his family bound to render his grace 
every assistance in his power, on any future occasion.” “My 
dear friend, why do you ask for such a trifling employment?” 
exclaimed his grace, “ your relative shall have it, the moment 
the place is vacant, if you will but call my attention to it.’ 
But how shall I get admitted to you, my lord? for in London, 
I understand, it is a very difficult business to get a sight of you 
great folks, though you are so kind and complaisant to us, in 
the country.”’ ‘The instant the man dies,’’ replied the Duke, 
“‘set out, post-haste, for London; drive directly to my house, 
and be it by night or by day, thunder at the door; I will leave 


* 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 239 


word with my porter, to show you up Stairs directly; and the 
employment shall be disposed of according to your wishes,” 

The parties separated ; the Duke drove to.a friend’s house in 
the neighborhood, without a wish or desire to see his new ac- 
quaintance till that day seven years ; but the memory of a Cor- 
nish elector, not being burdened with such a variety of objects, 
was more retentive. ‘Ihe supervisor died a few months after, 
and the Duke’s humble friend, relying on the word-of a peer, 
was conveyed to London post-haste, and ascended with peg 
the steps of that nobleman’s palace. 

The reader should be informed, that just at this time, no less 
a person than the King of Spain was expected hourly to depart ; 
an event in which the minister of Great Britain was particularly 
concerned; and the Duke of Newcastle, on the very night that 
the proprietor of the decisive vote arrived at his door, had sat 
up anxiously expecting dispatches from Madrid. Wearied by 
official business and agitated spirits, he retired to rest, having 
previously given particular instructions to his porter not to go 
to bed, as he expected, every minute, a messenger with advices 
of the greatest importance, and desired he might be shown up 
stairs, the moment of his arrival. 

His grace was sound asleep; and the porter, settled for the 
night, in his arm-chair, had already commenced a sonorous nap, 
when the vigorous arm of the Cornish voter roused him from: 
his slumbers. ‘To his first question, ‘Is the Duke at home 2” 
the porter replied, ‘‘ Yes, and in bed ; -but has left particular or- | 
ders, that come when you will, you are to go up to him direct-_ 
ly.” «Bless him, for a worthy and honest gentleman,”’ cried. 


our applicant for the vacant post, smiling and nodding with ap- — 


probation, at the prime minister’s kindness, ‘¢how punctual his 
grace is; | knew he would not deceive me; let me hear no 
more of lords and dukes not keeping their word; I verily be- 
lieve they are as honest, and mean as well.as any ‘other folks.” 
Having ascended the stairs as he was speaking, he was ushered 
into the Duke’s bed-chamber. 

‘Ts he dead ?”’ exclaimed his grace, rubbing his eyes, and 
scarcely awakened from dreaming of the King of Spain, “Is he 
dead ?”? “ Yes, my lord,”’ replied the eager expectant, delighted 
to find the election promise, with all its circumstances, so fresh 
in the nobleman’s memory. ‘ When did he die?” «'The 


day before yesterday, exactly at half past one o’clock, after be- 


img confined three weeks to his bed, and taking a power of doc- 


tor’s stuf; and I hope your grace will be as good as your 
word, and let my son-in-law succeed him.” 

The Duke, by this time perfectly awake, was staggered at 
the impossibility of receiving intelligence from Madrid in so 


> 


" 
” 


249 M'GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


short a space of time; and perplexed at the absurdity of a 
king’s messenger applying for his son-in-law to succeed the 
King of Spain: “Is the man drunk, or mad? Where are your 
dispatches !’* exclaimed his grace, hastily drawing back his cur- 
tain; where,instead of a royal courier, his eager eye recognized 
at the bed-side, the well known countenance of his friend from 
Cornwall, making low bows, with hat in hand, and * hoping 
my lord would not forget the gracious promise he was so good 
as to make, in favor of his son-in-law, at the last election.” 

Vexed at so untimely a disturbance, and disappointed of news 
from Spain, the Duke frowned for a moment; but chagrin soon 
gave way to mirth, at so singular and ridiculous a combination 
of circumstances, and yielding to the impulse, he sunk upon 
the bed in a violent fit of laughter, which was communicated in 
a moment to the attendants. 

The relater of this little narrative, concludes, with observing, 
‘«‘ Although the Duke of Newcastle could not place the relative 
of his eld acquaintance on the throne of His Catholic Majesty, 
he advanced him to a post not less honorable,—he made him an 
exciseman.’’—~ANONYMOUS. Galt, 2, 


LESSON CVII. 
A PASSAGE IN HUMAN LIFE. 


In my daily walks into the country, I was accustomed to pass 
a certain cottage. It had nothing particularly picturesque about 
it. It had its little garden, and its vine spreading over its front; 
but, beyond these, it possessed no feature likely to fix it in the 
mind of the poet or novel-writer, and which might induce him 
to people it with creatures of his own fancy. In fact, it appeared 
to be inhabited by persons as little extraordinary as itself. A 
‘©good man of the house”’ it might possess,—but he was never 
visible. ‘The only inmates I ever saw, were a young woman, 
and another.female, in the wane of life, no doubt the mother. 

The damsel was a comely, fresh, mild-looking cottage girl, 
always seated in one spot, near the window, intent on her needle. 
The old dame was as regularly busied, to and fro, in household 
affairs. She appeared one of those good: housewives, who never 
dream of rest, except when in sleep. The cottage stood so near 
the road, that the fire at the farther end of the room, showed 
you, without your being rudely inquisitive, the whole interior, 
in a single moment of passing. A clean hearth and a cheerful 


fire, shining upon homely, but neat and orderly furniture, spoke. 


* 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. ; 24| 


* comfort; but whether the old dame enjoyed, or merely di 
fused that comfort, was a problem. 

I passed the house many successive days It was always 
alike,—the fire shining brightly and peacefully,—the girl seate« 
at her post by the window,—the housewife going to and fro, ~< 
tering and contriving, dusting and managing. One morning as ! 
went by, there was a change. ‘The dame was seated near he» 
daughter, her arms laid upon the table, and her head recline 
upon her arms. [ was sure that it was sickness which had com 
pelled her to that action of repose; nothing less could have done 
it. I felt that 1 knew exactly the poor woman’s feelings. She 
had felt a weariness stealing upon her; she had wondered at it, 
and struggled against it, and borne up, hoping it would pass by; 
til, loth as she was to yield, it had forced submission. 

The next day, when I passed, the room appeared as usual ; 
the fire burning pleasantly, the girl at her needle, but her mother 
was not to be seen; and, glancing my eye upwards, I perceived 
the blind close drawn, in the window above. It is so, said I to 
myself, disease is in progress. . Perhaps it occasions no gloomy 
fear of consequences, no extreme concern—and yet, who knows 
how it may end? It is thus, that begin those changes that draw 
out thecentral bolt that holds families together; which steal 
away our fire-side faces, and lay waste our affections. 

I passed by, day after day. ‘The scene was the same; the 
fire burning, the hearth beaming clear and cheerful; but the mo- 
ther was not to be seen; the blind was still drawn above. At 
length, | missed the girl, and in her place appeared another wo- 
man, bearing considerable resemblance to the mother, but of a 
more quiet habit. It was easy to interpret this change. Disease 
had assumed an alarming aspect; the daughter was occupied in 
intense watching and caring for the suffering mother, and the 
good woman’s sister had been summoned to her side, perhaps 
from a distant spot, and, perhaps, from her family cares, which 
no less important an event could have induced her to elude. 

Thus appearances continued some days. There was silence 
around the house, and an air of neglect within it, till, one morr: 
ing, | beheld the blind drawn,in the room below, and the window 
thrown open above. ‘I'he scene was over; the mother was re- 
moved from her family, and one of those great changes effected 
in human life, which commence With so little observation, but 
leave behind them such lasting effects. —ANonymovs. 


21 


242 


M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


LESSON CVIII. 
THE DEPARTED. 


Tue departed! the departed ! 
They visit us in dreams, 

And they glide above our memories 
Like shadows over streams; 

But where the cheerful lights of home 
In constant luster burn, 

The departed, the departed, 
Can never more return! 


The good, the brave, the beautiful, 
How dreamless is their sleep, 

Where rolls the dirge like music 
Of the ever-tossing deep ! 

Or where the surging night-winds 
Pale winter’s robes have spread 

Above the narrow pala 
In the cities of the de 


I look around, and feel the fre 
Of one who walks alone, 
Among the wrecks of former days, 
In mournful ruin strown ; 
I start to hear the stirring sounds 
Among the cypress trees, 
For the voice of the departed 
Is borne upon the breeze. 


That solemn voice! it mingles with 
Each free and careless strain 3 

I scarce can think earth’s minstrelsy 
Will cheer my heart again. 

The melody of summer waves, 
The thrilling notes of birds, 

Can never be so dear to me, 
As their remembered words. 


I sometimes dream, their pleasant smiles 
Still on me sweetly fall, 
Their tones of love I faintly hear 
My name in sadness call. 
1 know that they are happy, 
With their angel-plumage on, 
But my heart is very desolate, 
To think that they are gone.—Parx Bensamin, 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 


— 


ra LESSON CIX. 
THANATOPS Is. 
To him, who, in the love of nature, holds 
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks 
A various language; for his gayer hours 


She has a voice of gladness, and a smile’ - 
And eloquence of beauty, and be clides 
Into his dark musings, with a mild 


And gentle sympathy, that steals away 


Their sharpness, ere he is aware. yA 
— When thoughts 


Of the last bitter hour, come like a blight 

Over thy spirit, and sad images 

Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, 

And breathless darkness, and the narrow house, 
Make thee to shudder Ee. sick at heart; - 
Go forth into the ¢ nd list 

To nature’s teachi m all around, 
Comes a still voice ua 


‘Yet a few days, and thee, 
The all-beholding sun shall see no more 
In all his course ; nor yet,in the cold ground, 
Where thy pale form was laid with many tears, 
Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist 
Thy image. arth, that nourished thee, shall claim 
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again ; 
And, lost each human trace, surrendering up 
Thine individual being, shalt thou go 
To mix forever with cae elements, . 
To be a brother to th’ insensible rock 
And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain 
Turns with his ‘share and treads upon. 


The oak 
Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mold. 
Yet not to thy eternal resting place ~ 
Shalt thou retire alone—nor could’st thou wish 
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down 
With patriarchs of the infant world, with kings, 
The powerful of the earth, the wise, the good, 
Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past 
All in one mighty sepulcher. 


The hills, 
Rock-ribbed, and ancient as the sun; the vales, 
Stretching in pensive quietness between; 
The venerable woods; rivers that move 
In majesty, and the complaining brooks 


243 


244 


.. The globe, are but al 


Take note of thy departure 


M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


That make the meadows green; and, poured round all, 
Old ocean’s gray and melancholy waste, 

Are but the solemn decorations all 

Of the great tomb of man. ‘hésgolden sun, 

The seariets, all the infinite host of heaven, 

Are shining on the sad abodes cf death, 

Through the still lapse of ages. 


; i that tread - 
dful, to the tribes 

‘That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings ~ 
Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce, 

Or loge.thyself in the continuous woods _ 
Where rolls the Oregoh, andshears no sound 
Save its own dashings—y he dead are there; 
And millions in those soli since first 

laid them down 
n there alone. 


So shalt thou rest; and v ou shalt fall 
Unnoticed by the livine. d 
| that breathe 
Will share thy destiny. “Phe gay will laugh 
When thou art gone; the solemn brood of care 
Plod on; and each one, as before, will chase 

His favorite phantom ; yet all these shall leave 
Their mirth and their enjoyments, and shall come, 
And make their bed with thee. As the long train 
Of ages glide away, the sens of men, 

‘The youth in life’s green spring, and he who goes 
Tm the full strength of years, matron and maid, 
The bowed with age, the infant, in the smiles 

And beauty of its innocent age, cut off,— 

Shall, one by one, be gathered to thy side, 

By those, who, in their turn, shall follow them. 


So live, that when thy summons comes to join 

The innumerable caravan, that moves 

To the pale realms of shade, where each shal! take 

His chamber in the silent halls of death, 

Thou go not like the quarry-slave at night, 

Scourged to his dungeon, but,sustained and soothed 

By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, . 
Like cne who wraps the drapery of his couch 

About him. and lies down to pleasant dreams.’*—Bryanr. 


. (1454 
YUN "" 
? es 


First Voice. 
Second Voice 
First Voice. 
Second Voice. 
First Voice. ' 
Second Voice. 
First Voice. 
Second Voice. 
First Voice. 


Second Voice. 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 245 


LESSON CX. 
THE CHURCH-YVARD. 


(Fwo Voices from the. Grave., 


How frightful the grave! how deserted and drear! 
With the howls of the storm-wind, the creaks of the bier, 
And the white bones all clattering together ! 


How peaceful the grave! its quiet how deep! 
Its zephyrs breathe calmly, and soft is its sleep, 
And flow’rets perfume it with ether. 


There, riots the blood-erested worm on the dead, 
And the yellow skull serves the foul toad for a bed, 
And snakes in the nettle-weeds hiss. 


How lovely, how sweet the-repose of the tomb! 


No tempests are there; butsthe nightingales come, 
And sing their sweety¢h of bliss. 


The ravens of night flap their wings o’er the grave ; 
"Tis the vulture’s abode; ’tis the wolf’s dreary cave, _ 
Where they tear up the dead with their fangs. 


There, the cony, at evening, disports with his love, 
Or rests on the sod; while the turtles above 
Repose on the bough that o’erhangs. 


There, darkness and dampness, with poisonous breath, 
And loathesome decay, fill the dwelling of death ; 
The trees are all barren and bare. 


O! soft are the breezes that play round the tomb, 
And sweet, with the violet’s wafted perfume, 
_. With lilies and jessamine fair. 


The pilgrim, who reaches this valley of tears, 
Would fain hurry by; and, with trembling and fears, 
He is lanched on the wreck-covered river. 


Here, the traveler, worn with life’s pilgrimage dreary, 
Lays down his rude staff, like one that is weary, 
And sweetly reposes for ever.—KaramisIn. 


Sr ee eae Pee eee ee ee eg 


246 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


LESSON CXI. 
THE GRAVE. 


Tue sorrow for the dead is the only sorrow from which we 
1efuse to be divorced. Eivery other wound we seek to heal; 
every other affliction,to forget; but this wound, we consider it a 
duty to keep open. ‘This affliction we cherish, and brood over 
in solitude. Where is the mother, who would willingly forget 
the infant that has perished like a blossom from her arms, though ~ 
every recollection is a pang? Where is the child, that would 
willingly forget_a tender parenty though to remember be but to 
Jament? Who, even in the hour of. agony, would forget the 
friend, over whom he mourns? | 

No, the love which’ survives the tomb, is one of the noblest 
attributes of the soul. If it has its woes, it has likewise its de- 
lights; and when the overwhelming burst of grief is calmed into 
the gentle tear of recolle ; when the sudden anguish, and the 
convulsive agony over tha re t ruins of all that we most loved, 
is softened away into pensiv oe on all that it was, in the 
days of its loveliness, who would root out such a sorrow from 
the heart?’ Though it may, sometimes, throw a passing cloud 
over the bright hour of gayety, or spread a deeper sadness over 
the hour of gloom, yet, who would exchange it, even for the 
song of pleasure or the burst of revelry? No, there is a voice 
from the tomb sweeter than song. ‘There is a remembrance of 
the dead, to which we turn, even from the charms of the living. 

Oh, the grave!—the grave !—TIt buries every error, covers 
every defect, extinguishes every resentment! From its peaceful 
bosom, spring none but fond regrets and tender recollections. 
Who can look down upon the grave, even of an enemy, and not 
feel a compunctious throb, that he should have warred with the 
poor handful of earth that lies moldering before him? But the 
grave of those we loved—what a place for meditation! There 
it is, that we call up, in long review, the whole history of virtue 
and gentleness, and the thousand endearments lavished upon us, 
almost unheeded, in the daily intercourse of intimacy ; there it 
is, that we dwell upon the tenderness, the solemn, awful tender- 
ness of the parting scene; the bed of death, with all its stifled 
eriefs, its noiseless attendance, its mute, watchful assiduities |— 
the last testimonies of expiring love!—the feeble, fluttering, 
thrilling,—oh, how thrilling !—pressure of the hand !—the last 
fond look of the glazing eye turning upon us, even from the 
threshold of existence !—the faint, faltering accents, struggling 
in death to give one more assurance of affection! 

Aye, go to the grave of buried love, and meditate! ‘There 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 247 


settle the account with thy conscience, for every past benefit un- 
requited ; every past endearment unregarded, of that departed 
being, who can never—never—never return to be soothed by thy 
contrition! If thou art a child, and hast ever added a sorrow to 
the soul, or a furrow to the silvered brow of an affectionate pa- 
rent; if thou art a husband, and hast ever caused the fond bosom 
that ventured its whole happiness in thy arms, to doubt one mo- 
ment of thy kindness or thy truth; if thou art a friend, and hast 
ever wronged, in thought, or word, or deed, the spirit that gene- 
rously confided in thee; if thou hast given one unmerited pang 
to that true heart, which now lies cold and still beneath thy feet ; 
then be sure, that every unkind look, every ungracious word, 
every ungentle action, will come thronging back upon thy me- 
mory, and knocking dolefully at thy soul; then be sure, that 
thou wilt lie down sorrowing and repentant on the grave, and 
utter the unheard groan, and pour the unavailing tear —more 
deep, more bitter, because unheard and unavailing. 

‘Then weave thy chaplet of flowers, and strew the beauties of 
nature about the grave; consolethy broken spirit, if thou canst, 
with these tender, yet futile trib regret; but take warning, 
by the bitterness of this, thy contrite affliction over the dead, and 
henceforth, be more faithful and affectionate in the discharge of 
thy duties to the living.—W. Irvine. 


LESSON CXII. 
CHARACTER OF COLUMBUS. 


Coxumpus was a man of great and inventive genius. The 
operations of his mind were energetic, but irregular; bursting 
forth, at times, with that irresistible force which character 
intellect of such an order, His ambition was lofty and no- 
ble, inspiring him with high thoughts, and an anxiety to distin- 
guish himself by great achievements. He aimed at dignity and 
wealth in the same elevated spirit with which he sought renown ; 
they were to rise from the territories he should discover, and_be 
commensurate in importance. 

His conduct was characterized by the grandeur of his views, 
and the magnanimity of his spirit. Instead of ravaging the 
newly found countries, like many of his contemporary discov- 
erers, who were intent only on immediate gain, he regarded 
them with the eyes of a legislator; he sought to colonize and 
cultivate them, to civilize the natives, to build cities, introduce 
the useful arts, subject every thing to the control of law, order, 


248 MGUFFEYS RHETORICAL GUIDE 


and religion, and thus to found regular and prosperous empires. 
Phat he failed in this, was the e fault of the dissolute rabble which 
it was his misfortune to command, with whom all law was ty- 
ranny, and all order oppression. 

He was naturally irascible and impetuous, and keenly sensible 
to injury and injustice; yet the quickness of his temper was 
counteracted by the generosity and benevolence of his heart. 
The magnanimity of his nature shone forth through all the 
troubles of his stormy career. ‘Though continually outraged in 
his dignity, braved in his authority, foiled in his plans, and en- 
dangered in his person, by the seditions of turbulent and worth- 
less men, and that, too, at times when suffering under anguish 
of body and anxiety of mind, enough to exasperate the most pa- 
tient, yet he restrained his valiant and indignant spirit, and 
brought himself to forbear, and reason, and even to supplicate 
Nor can the reader of the story of his eventful life, fail to notice 
how free he was from all feeling of revenge, how ready to. for- 
give and forget, on the least sign of repentance and atonement. 
He has been exalted for his Me in controlling others, but far 
greater praise is due to him for the firmness he displayed in go- 
verning himself. | 

His piety was genuine and fervent. Religion mingled with the 
whole course of his thoughts and actions, and shone forth in his 
most private and unstudied writings. Whenever he made any 
great discovery, he devoutly returned thanks to God. ‘The voice 
of prayer and the melody of praise,rose from his ships on dis- 
covering the new world, and his first action on landing was, to 
prostrate himself upon the earth, and offer up thanksgivings. 
All his great enterprizes were undertaken in the name of the 
Holy ‘Trinity, and he partook of the holy sacrament previous to 
embarkation. He observed the festivals of the Church in the 
wildest situations. The sabbath was to him a day of sacred rest, 
on which he would never sail from a port, unless in case of ex- 
treme necessity. ‘The religion thus deeply seated in his soul, 
diffused a sober dignity and a benign composure, over his whole 
deportment ; his very language was pure and guarded, and free 
from all gross or irreverent expressions. 

A peculiar trait in his rich and varied character remains to be 
scticed ; namely, that ardent and enthusiastic imagination, which 
threw a magnificence over his whole course of thought. A po- 
etical temperament is discernible throughout all his writings, and 
in all his actions. We see it in all his descriptions of the beau- 
ties of the wild lands he was discovering, in the enthusiasm with 
which he extolled the blandness of the temperature, the purity 
of the atmosphere, the fragrance of the air, “full ef dew and 


OF. THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 249 


sweetness,” the verdure of the forests, the grandeur of the moun- 
tains, and the crystal purity of the running streams. It spread 
a glorious and golden world around him, and tinged every thing 
with its own gorgeous colors. 

He was decidedly a Hisionary , but a visionary of an uncom- 
mon kind, and successful in his dreams. ‘I'he manner in which 
his ardent imagination and mercurial nature were controlled by 
a powerful jndgment, and directed by an acute sagacity, is the 
most extraordinary feature in his character. ‘Thus governed, his 
imagination, instead of exhausting itself in idle flights, lent aid 
to his judgment, and enabled him to form conelusions at which 
common minds could never have arrived, nay, which they could 
not conceive, when pointed out. ‘Tc his intellectual vision it was 
given to read the signs of the times, and to trace in the conject- 
ures and reveries of past ages, the indications of an unknown 
world. ‘His soul,’’ observes a Spanish writer, ‘* was superior 
to the age in which he lived. For him was reserved the great 
enterprize of traversing a sea which had given rise to so many 
fables, and of deciphering the masiery. of his age.’ 

With all the visionary fervor’of his imagination, its fondest 
dreams fell short of the reality. He died in ignorance of the 
real grandeur of his discovery. Until his last breath, he enter- 
tained the idea that he had merely opened a new way to the old 
resorts of opulent commerce, and had discovered some of the 
wild regions of the east. What visions of glory would have 
broken upon his mind, could he have known that he had indeed 
discovered a new continent, equal to the old world in magnitude, 
and separated by two vast oceans, from all the earth hitherto 
known by civilized man! How would his magnanimous spirit 
have been consoled amidst the afflictions of age “and the cares of 
penury, the neglect of a fickle public and the injustice of an un- 
grateful king, could he have anticipated the splendid empires 
which would arise in the beautiful world he had discovered ; and 
the nations, and tongues, and languages, which were to fill its 
lands with his renown, and to revere and bless his name to the 
latest posterity !—W. Irvine. 


250 M’GUFFEY’S RELGFORICAL GUIDE 


LESSON CXIIL. 


RECEPTION OF COLUMBUS, ON HIS RETURN TO 
| SPAIN. 


Tut fame of the discovery of a new world, had resounded 
throughout Spain; and,as the route of Columbus lay through 
several of the finest and most populous provinces, his journey 
appeared like the progress of a sovereign. Wherever he passed, 
the surrounding country poured forth its inhabitants, who lined 
the road, and thronged the villages. In the large towns, the 
streets, windows, and balconies, were filled with eager specta- 
‘ars, who rent the air with ac¢lamations. His journey was 
continually impeded by the multitude, pressing to gain a sight 
of him, and of the Indians, who were regarded with as much 
admiration as if they had been natives of another planet. It 
was impossible to satisfy the craving curiosity, which assailed 


-himself and his companions, at every stage, with innumerable 
questions. Popular rumor, as usual, had exaggerated the truth, 


and had filled the newly founkgpountry with all kinds of won- 
ders. 

It was about the middle of April, that Columbus arrived at 
Barcelona, where every preparation had been made to give him 
a solemn and magnificent reception. ‘The beauty and serenity 
of the weather, in that genial season and favored climate, con- 
tributed to give splendor to this memorable ceremony. As he 
drew near the place, many of the more youthful courtiers and 
hidalgos of gallant bearing, together with a vast concourse of 
the populace, came forth to greet and welcome him. First, were 
paraded the Indians, painted according to their savage fashion, 
and decorated with tropical feathers and with their national or- 
naments of gold; after these, were borne various kinds of live 
parrots, together with stuffed birds, and animals of unknown 
species, and rare plants, supposed to be of precious qualities ; 
while great care was taken to make a conspicuous display of 
Indian coronets, bracelets, and other decorations of gold, which 
might give an idea of the wealth of the newly discovered regions. 
After these, followed Columbus, on horseback, surrounded by a 


brilliant cavaleade of Spanish chivalry. 


The streets were almost impassable from the countless multi- 
tude; the windows and balconies were lined with the fair; the 
very roofs were covered with spectators. It seemed as if the 
public eye could not be sated with gazing on these trophies of 
an unknown world, or on the remarkable man by whom it had 
been discovered. ‘There was a sublimity in the event, that min- 
gled a solemn feeling with the public joy. It was looked upon 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES, 251 


as a vast and signal dispensation of Providence, in reward for the — 


piety of the monarchs; and the majestic and venerable appear- 
ance of the discoverer, so different from the youth and buoyancy 
which are generally expected from roving enterprise, seemed in 
harmony with the grandeur and dignity of his achievement. 


To receive him with suitable pomp and distinction, the sove-__ 


reigns had ordered their thrones to be placed in public, under a 


rich canopy of brocade of gold, in a vast and splendid saloon. | 


Here, the king and queen awaited his arrival, seated in state, 
with the prince Juan beside them, and attended by the digni- 


taries of their court and the principal nobility of Spain, all» 


impatient to behold the man who had conferred so incalculable 
a benefit upon the nation. 

At length, Columbus entered the hail, surrounded by a brilliant 
crowd of cavaliers; among whom he was conspicuous for his 
stately and commanding person, which, with his countenance 
rendered venerable by his gray hairs, gave him the august 
appearance of a senator of Rome. A modest smile lighted up» 
his features, showing that enjoyed the state and glory, in 
which he came; and sertaidlt nothing could be more deeply 
moving, to a sais inflamed by noble ambition, and conscious of 
having greatly deserved, than the testimonials of the admiration 
and gratitude of a nation, or rather of a world. As Columbus 
approached, the sovereigns rose, as if receiving a person of the 
highest rank. Bending his knees, he requested to kiss their 
hands; but there was some hesitation on the part of their 
majesties to permit this act of vassalage. Raising him in the 
most gracious manner, they ordered him to seat himself in their 
presence; a rare honor in this proud and punctilious court. 

At the request of their majesties, Columbus now gave an 
account of the most striking events of his voyage, and a descrip- 
tion of the islands which he had discovered. He displayed the 
specimens he had brought of unknown birds and other animals ; 
of rare plants, of medicinal and aromatic virtue; of native gold, 
in dust, in crude masses, or labored into barbaric ornaments ; 
and, above all, the Tachies of these countries, who were objects 
of intense and inexhaustible interest; since there is nothing to 
mati so curious as the varieties cf his own species. All these he 
pronounced mere harbingers of greater discoveries he had yet ¥ 
make, which would add realms of. incalculable wealth to th 
dominions of their majesties, and whole nations of proselytes to 
the true faith. 

The words of Columbus were listened to with profound 
emotion by the sovereigns. When he had finished, they sunk 
on their knees, and raising their clasped hands to heaven, their 
eyes filled with vie of joy and gratitude, they poured forth 


252 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


_ thanks and praises to Ged for so great a providence; all present 
- followed their example ; a deep and solemn enthusiasm pervaded 
that splendid assembly, and prevented all common acclamations 
of triumph. ‘The anthem of 7'e Dewn laudamus, chanted by 
the choir of the royal chapel, with the melodious accompant- 
ments of the instruments, rose up from the midst, in a full body 
i of ‘sacred harmony, bearing up, as it were, the feelings and 
ig: y of the auditors to heaven; ; so that,” says the venerable 
fas Casas, the historian of the occasion, “it seemed as if, in that 
hour, they communicated with celestial delights.” Such was 
eethe solemn and pious manner in which the “brilliant court of 
Spain, celebrated this sublime event; offering up a grateful 
tribute of melody and praise; and giving glory to God for the 
discovery of another world. 

When Columbus retired from the royal presence, he was 
attended to his residence by all the court, and followed by the 
shouting populace. . For many days, he was the object of uni- 
versal curiosity, and wherever he appeared, he was surrounded ~ 
by an admiring multitude.—W. Irvine. 


LESSON CXIV. 


THE BATTLE OF IVRY.* 


Henry the Fourth, on his accession to the I*rench throne, was opposed by 
a large part of his subjects, under the Duke of Mayenne, with the assistance 
om OF Spain and Savoy, and, from the union of these several nations, their army 
was called the ‘‘ army of the league.’’ In-March, 1590, he cained a decisive 
victory over that party, at Ivry; a small town in France. Before the battle, he 
said to his troops, ‘‘ My children, if you lose sight of your colors, rally to 
my white plume,—you will always find it in the path to honor and glory.” 
His conduct was answerable to his promise. Nothing could resist his im- 
petuous valor, and the leaguers underwent a total and bloody defeat. In the 
midst of the rout, Henry followed, crying ‘‘Save the French!’’ and his 
clemency added a number of the enemy to his own army. 


Re 


“Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all Y aries are! 
And glory to our sovereign liege, King Henry of Navarre. 

Now let there be the merry sound of music and the dance, 

Through thy corn-fields green and sunny vines, O pleasant land of 
France ! 
And thou, Rocwelle, our own Rochelle, proud city of the waters, 
Again let rapture light the eye of all thy mourning daughters. 
. As thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous in our joy, 

For cold, and stiff, and still are they who would thy walls annoy. 
Hurrah ! ' hurrah! a single field hath turned the chance of war; 
Hurrah! hurrah! for Ivry, and King Henry of Navarre! 


* Pronounced L-vree. a 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 253 
Oh! how our hearts were beating, when at the dawn of day, te 
We saw the army of the League drawn out in long array; 
With all its priest-led citizens, and all its rebel peers, 
And Appenzel’s stout infantry, and Egmont’s Flemish spears. 
There, rode the brood of. false Lorraine, the curses of our land! 
And dark Mayenne was in the midst, a truncheon in his hand! 
- And, as we looked on them, we thought of Seine’s empurpled flood, 
And good Coligni’s* hoary hair, all dabbled with his blood; ’ 
And we cried unto the living God, who rules the fate of war, 


The king is come to marshal us, in all his armor drest, 

And he has bound a snow-white plume upon his gallant crest. 

He looked upon his people, and a tear was in his eye; 

He looked upon the traitors, and his glance was stern and high. 
Right graciously he smiled on us, as rolled from wing to wing, 
Down all our line, a deafening shout, ** God save our Lord, the King!” 
‘And if my standard-bearer fall, and fall full well he may, 

For never saw I promise yet of such a bloody fray, 

Press where you see my white plume shine, amid the ranks-of war, 
And be your oriflamme,f to-day, the helmet of Navarre.” 


Hurrah! the foes are moving! Hark to the mingled din 
. Of fife, and steed, and trump, and drum, and roaring culverin! 

The fiery duke is pricking fast across Saint André’s plain, 
With all the hireling chivalry of Guelders and Almayne. 
Now, by the lips of those ye love, fair gentlemen of France, 
Charge for the golden lilies,t now upon them with the lance! 
A thousand spurs are striking deep, a thousand spears in rest, 
A thousand knights are pressing close behind the snow-white crest ; 
And in they burst, ‘and on they rushed, while, like a guiding star, 
Amidst the thickest carnage, blazed the helmet of Navarre. 


Now, God be praised! the day is ours! Mayenne hath turned his 
rein,— : 

D’Aumale§ hath cried for quarter; the Flemish count is slain; 

Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds before a Biscay gale;- 

The field is heaped with bleeding. steeds, and flags, and cloven mail. 

And then we thought on vengeance, and all along our van, 

“* Remember Saint Bartholomew,’ was passed from man to man; 

But out spake gentle Henry, then, ‘‘ No Frenchman is my foe; 

Down, down with every foreigner; but let your brethren go.” 

Oh! was there ever such a knight, in friendship or in war, 

As our sovereign lord, King Henry, the soldier of Navarre! 


* Coligni, (pronounced Co-leen-yee,) a venerable old man, was one of the 
victims in the massacre of St. Bartholomew. : 

t Oriflamme, (pronounced or-ree-flam,) the French standard. 

t Golden lilies were embroidered upon the French flag. 

§ Pronounced Do-mal. 

ll On the evening of St. Bartholomew’s day, in the year 1572, an indis- 
criminate massacre of the Protestants throughout France, took place, by or- 
der of Charles IX., then king of France 


To fight for his own holy name, and Henry of Navarre. * he” 


a 
Fils TR Seaeg cs 


4 


@ 


254 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 

Ho! maidens of Vienna! Ho! matrons of Lucerne! 

Weep, weep, and rend your hair for those who never shall return. 

Ho! Philip, send, for charity, thy Mexican pistoles, 

That Antwerp monks may sing a mass fur thy poor spearmen’s souls! 

Ho! gallant nobles of the league, look that your arms be bright! 

Ho! burghers of Saint Genevieve, keep watch and ward to-night! 

For our God hath crushed the tyrant, our God hath raised the slave, 

And mocked the counsel of the wise and the valor of the brave. 

_ Then glory to His holy name, from whom all glories are; 

And honor to our sovereign lord, King Henry of Navarre. 
Macaulay 


LESSON CXYV. 
LORD ULLIN’S DAUGHTER. 


A cHirFTaIn to the Highlands bound, 
Cries, ‘‘ Boatman, do not tarry! 
And I’ give thee a silver pound, 
To row us o’er the ferry.” 


*¢ Now, who be ye would cross Loch-Gyle, 
This dark and stormy water ?”’ 
‘¢©O!1’m the chief of Ulva’s isle, 
And this, Lord Ullin’s daughter. 


‘“‘And fast before her father’s men 
Three days we ’ve fled together, 

For should he find us in the glen, 
My blood would stain the heather. 


‘¢ His horsemen hard behind us ride; 
Should they our steps discover, 

Then who will cheer my bonny bride, 
When they have slain her lover ?” 


Out spoke the hardy, Highland wight, 
“JT "ll go, my chief—I ’m ready: 

It is not for your silver bright, 
But for your winsome lady : 


“And, by my word! the bonny bird 
In danger shall not tarry ; 

So, though the w aves are raging white, 
I *ll row you o’er the ferry. ‘ 


By this, the storm grew loud apace, 
The water-wraith was shrieking ; 

And,in the scowl of heaven, each’ os 
Grew dark as they were speaking. 


es 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 255 


But still, as wilder grew the wind 
And as the night grew drearer, 

Adown the glen rode armed men, 
Their trampling sounded nearer 


“QO haste thee, haste!”’ the lady cries, 
‘Though tempests round us gather; ~ 
I ll meet the raging of the skies, 
But not an angry father.” 


The boat has left the stormy land, 
A stormy sea before her— 

When, oh! too strong for human hand, 
The tempest gathered o’er her. 


And still they rowed, amidst the roar 
Of waters fast prevailing ; 

Lord Ullin reached that fatal shore, 
His wrath was changed to wailing. 


For sore dismayed, through storm and shade 
His child he did discover ; 

One lovely hand she stretched for aid, 
And one was round her lover. 


‘Come back! come back!” he cried in grief, 
‘Across this stormy water: 

And I’ll forgive your Highland chief; 
My daughter! oh, my daughter!” 


*T was vain: the loud waves lashed the shore, 
Return or aid preventing: 

The waters wild went o’er his-child, 
And he was left lamenting. —CampseeELt. 


LESSON CXVI. 


SURRENDER OF GRENADA TO THE SPANIARDS. 


Day dawned upon Grenada, and the beams of the winter sun, 
smiling away the clouds of the past night, played cheerily upon 
the murmuring waves of the Xenil and the Darro. Alone, up- 
on a balcony commanding a view of the beautiful landscape, 
stood Boabdil, the last of the Moorish kings. He had sought to 
bring to his aid ail the lessons of the philosophy, he had so ar- 
dently cultivated. . 

« What are we,” said the musing prince, “ that we should fill 
the earth with ourselves—we kings! Earth resounds with the 


ee: 


PR Sa ee Me a 


SE tote 


ET are 


eine amt tied 


256 M'GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


erash of ice falling throne; on the ear of races unborn the echo 
will live prolonged. But what have Llost? Nothing that was 
necessary to my happiness, my repose ; nothing save the source 
of all my wretchedness, the Marah of my life! Shall I less en- 
joy heaven and earth, or thought and action, or man’s more ma- 
erial luxuries of food and sleep—the commen and cheap desires 
ofall? At the worst, I sink but to a level with chiefs and prin- 
ces: | am but leveled with those whom the multitude admire 
andenvy. . . . Butitistime to depart. ’’ So saying, he 
descended to the court, flung himself on his barb, and, with a 
small and saddened train, passed through the gate w hich we yet 
survey, by a blackened and crumbling tower, overgrown with 
vines and ivy; thence, amid gardens, now appertaining to the 
convent of the victor faith, he took his mournful and unnoticed 
way. 

When he came to the middle of the hill that rises above those 
gardens, the steel] of the Spanish armor gleamed upon him, as 
the detachment sent to occupy the palace, marched over the sum- 
mit in steady order and profound silence. At the head of the 
vanguard, rode, upon a snow-white palfrey, the Bishop of Avila, 
followed by a long train of barefooted monks. They halted as 


Boabdil approached, and the grave bishop saluted him with the 


air of one who addresses an infidel and an inferior. With the 
quick sense of dignity common to the great, and yet more to the 
fallen, Boabdil felt, but resented not the pride of the ecclesiastic. 
‘“‘Go, christian,” said he mildly, * the gates of the Alhambra are 
open, and Allah has bestowed the palace and the city upon your 
king ; may his virtues atone the faults of Boabdil!”’ So saying, 
and waiting no answer, he rode on, without looking to the right 
or the left. ‘The Spaniards also pursued their way. 

The sun had fairly risen above the mountains, when Boabdil 
and his train beheld, from the eminence on which they were, the 
whole armament of Spain ; and,at the same moment, louder than 
the tramp of horse or the clash of arms, was heard distinctly, 
the solemn chant of Zé Deum,-which preceded the blaze of the 
unfurled and lofty standards. Boabdil, himself still silent, heard 
the groans and acelamations of his train; he turned to cheer or 
chide them, and then saw, from his own wateh-tower, with the 
sun shining full upon its pure and dazzling surface, the silver 
cross of Spain. His Alhambra was already in the hands of the 
foe ; while beside that badge of the holy war, waved the gay and 
flaunting flag of St. Jago, the canonized Mars of the chivalry of 
Spain. At that sight, the King’s voice died within him; he gave 
the rein to his barb, impatient to close the fatal ceremonial, and 
slackened not his speed, till almost within bow-shot of the first 
rank of the army. 


= 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES, 257 


Never had Christian war assumed a more splendid and im- 


posing aspect. Far as the eye could reach, extended the glitter- 


ing and gorgeous lines of that goodly power, bristling avith sun- 
lighted spears and blazoned banners ; while beside, murmured, 
and glowed, and danced, the silver and laughing Xenil, careless 
what lord*should possess, for his little day, the banks that bloom- 
ed by its everlasting course. By a small mosque, halted the 
flower of the army. ‘Surrounded by the arch-priests of that 
mighty hierarchy, the peers and princes of a court that rivaled 
the Roland of Charlemagne, was seen the kingly form of Ferdi- 
nand himself, with Isabel at his right, hand, and the high born 
dames of Spain, relieving, with their gay colors and sparkling 
gems; the sterner splendor of the crested helmet and polished 
mail. Within sight of the royal group, Boabdil halted, composed 
his aspect so as best to conceal his soul, and a little-in advance 
of his scanty train, but never in mien and majesty more a king, 
the son of Abdallah met his haughty conqueror. . 

At the sight of his princely. countenance and golden hair, his 


comely and commanding beauty, made more touching by youth, 


a thrill of compassionate admiration ran through that assembly 
of the brave and fair.. Ferdinand and Isabel slowly advanced to 
meet their late rival,—their new subject ; and as Boabdil would 
have dismounted, the Spanish king placed lis hand upon his 
shoulder.‘ Brother and prince,”’ said he, “forget thy sorrows ; 
and may our friendship hereafter console thee for reverses against 


which thou hast contended as a hero and a king; resisting man, 


but resigned at length to God.”’ 

Boabdil did not affect to return this bitter, but unintentional 
mockery of compliment. He bowed his head, and remained a 
moment silent; then, motioning to his train, four of his officers 
approached, and, kneeling beside Ferdinand, proffered to him, 
upon a-silver buckler, the keys of the city. “Oh, king!” then 
said Boabdil, “accept the keys of the last hold-which has re- 
sisted the arms of Spain! The empire of the Moslem is no 
more. ‘Thine are the city and the people of Grenada; yielding 


to thy prowess, they yet confide in thy mercy.” ‘They do, 


well,’’ said the king; ‘‘ our promises shall not be broken. But 


since we know the gallantry of Moorish cavaliers, not to us, but: 


to gentler hands, shall the keys of Grenada be surrendered.”’ 
Thus saying, Ferdinand gave the keys to Isabel, who-would 
have addressed some soothing flatteries to Boabdil, but the emo- 
tion and excitement were too much for her compassionate heart, 
heroine and queen though she was; and when she lifted her 
eyes upon the calm and pale features of the fallen monarch, the 
tears gushed from them irresistably, and her voice died in: mur- 
murs. A faint flush overspread the features of Boabdil, and 

~ 22 : ; 


™’ 


258 M GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


there was a momentary pause of embarrassment, which. the 
Moor was the first to break. 

‘s Fair queen,’’ said he, with mournful and pathetic dignity, 
‘‘thou canst.read the heart that thy generous sympathy touches 
and subdues; tliis is my last, but not least glorious conquest. 
But I detain ye; let not my aspect cloud your triumph. Suffer 
me to say farewell.’’ «+ Farewell, my brother,’ replied Ferdi- . 
nand, ‘and may fair fortune go with you! Ferget the past!” 
Boabdil smiled bitterly, saluted the royal pair with profound: re- 
spect and silent reverence, and rode slowly on, leaving the army 
below, as he ascended the path-that led to his new prineipality— 
beyond the Alpuxarras. As the trees snatched the. Moorish 


cavalcade from the view of the king, Ferdinand ordered the army , 


to recommence its march; and trumpet and cymbal presently 
sent their music to the ear of the Moslem. 

Boabdil spurred on, at full speed, till his panting charger halted 
at the little village where his mother, hissslaves, and his faithful 
wife, Armine, (sent on before) awaited him. Joining these, he 
proceeded without delay upon his melancholy path. They as- 
cended that eminence, which is the pass into the Alpuxarras, 
From its height, the vale, the rivers, the spires, and the towers 
of Grenada, broke gloriously upon the view of the little band. 
They halted mechanically and abruptly; every eye was turned 
to the beloved scene. ‘The proud shame of baffled warriors, the 
tender memories of home, of childhood, of fatherland, swelled 
every heart, and gushed from every eye. Suddenly, the distant 
boom of artillery broke from the citadel, and rolled along the 
sun-lighted valley and crystal river. An universal wail burst 
from the exiles; it smote, it overpowered the heart of the-ill- 
starred king, in vain seeking to wrap himself in the eastern pride 
or stoical philosophy. ‘The tears gushed from his eyes, and he 
eovered his face with his hands. The band wound slowly on 
through the solitary defiles; and that place, where the king wept 
at the last view of his lost empire, is still called run Last sIGH 
OF THE mMOoR.—BvuLwenr. 


. LESSON CXVII. 


THE LAST SIGH OF THE MOOR. 


THE Spaniards gave this name (‘‘ The Last Sigh of the Moor,’’) to the 
eminence from which, after. their expulsion, the Moorish king and his fol- 
lowers took their farewell view of Grenada. ‘ 

‘ Winpine along, at break of day, ef 
__. And armed with helm and spears, 


" a 


"a 


. aa My. 
2 * 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 


Along the martyr’s rocky way, 
-. A king comes, with his peers; 

Unto the eye a splendid sight, - 
Making the air all richly bright, at 
Seen. flashing through the trees ; : i 
But, to the heart, a scene of blight— 

Seider than death were these. 


For brightly fall the morning rays 
Upon a conquer ’d king; 

The breeze that with his banner plays, 
Plays with an abject thing. 

Banner and king no more will know 

Their rightful place ’midst friend and foe— 
Proud. clarion, cease thy blast! 

Or, changing to the wail of woe, 
Breathe dirges for the past. 


Along, along, by rock and tower, 
That they have failed to keep, 
By wood and vale, their father’s dower, 
The exiled warriors sweep : 
The chevroned* steed, no more elate, 
~As if he knew his rider’s fate, 
Steps languidly and slow, 
As if he knew Grenada’s gate 
Now open to the foe! 


Along, along, till all is past, 
‘That once they call’d their own, 

Till bows the pride of strength at last, 
And knights, like women, moan! 

Pausing upon the green hill-side, 

That soon their city’s towers will hide, 
They lean upon their spears ; 

And hands, that late with blood were dyed, 
Are now washed white with tears. 


Another look, Hk brimming eyes, 
Along the glorious plain ; 

Elsewhere may spread as lovely skies, 
Elsewhere their monarch reign ; 

But never more in that bright land, 

With all his chivalry at hand, 
“Now dead, or far departed ! 

* And from the hill-side moves the band, 

The bravest, broken-hearted.—Miss Jewspury. 


* A chevron, is a certain mark used in heraldry. 


259 


~ a a ™ 4 + 
~ sae - 4 
& 


® wt 
3. ali” : . 
160. OC M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 
a * “LESSON CXVIII. .. 


: THE APPROACH OF A DEVASTATING ARMY. 
APP! | RM 


ee 


»Biow ye the trumpet in Zion; ~ 

And sound af alarm in mine holy mountain: a 

Let-all the inhabitants of the land tremble: ~ a 

for the day of the Lord cometh,—for it is near: te 

A day of darkness and gloom: . 
- A day of clouds, and-of thick darkness. : 

As a dusk spread upon the mountains, ~~ jt 

Cometh a numerous people and strong. a" ca 

Like them, there hath not been of old time, . 

And after them, there shall not be, Ree 8 

Kiven to the years of many generations. 


Before them, a fire devoureth, 
And behind, a flame burneth ; "Se 
The land is as the garden of Eden before them, . 

And behind them, a desolate wilderness: 

Yea, and nothing shall escape them. = 

Their appearance shall be like the appearance of horses, ia 

And like horsemen shall they run; % 

Like the sound of chariots, on the tops of the mountain, shall they 
leap ; r 

Like the oie of a fiame of fire, which devoureth stubble; 

‘They shall be like a strong people, set in battle array. 


Before them, shall the people be much pained : 
All faces shall gather blackness; 
They shall run like mighty men; 
Like warriors shall they climb the wall; ae 
And they shall march every one in his way; ee 
» Neither shall they turn aside from their, paths ; 
Neither shall one trust another: ~- 2 
.They shall march each in his road; — » ' 
‘And if they fall upon the sword, they shall not be wounded. 
They shall run to and fro in the city, 
. They shall run upon the wall, they shall climb up into the houses; 
_ “They’shall enter in at the window, like a thief. 
Before them, the earth quaketh, the heavens tremble: — 
_ The sun and moon are darkened; a toe 
And the stars withdraw their shining. 


f- 

“And Jehovah shall utter his voice before his army 5 
For his camp is very great, : 
And the day of the Lord is very great 
And very terrible, and who shall be able to bear it ? 
Yet, even now, saith Jehovah, ° 
Turn ye unto me with all your heart, 
With fasting, and with weeping, and with mourning, i. 
And rend your hearts, and not your garments, " 


, > me a 
5G. ‘ej , o 
OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 261 


And turn unto J elioval: your God ; 

For he is gracious and merciful, of 

Slow to anger, and/of great kixidnesss - iad & 
And Pages him of evil.—Jor1,.Cuaprer Il. ms 


i ae 
a LESSON CXIX. 


Wins, CHARACTER OF BLANNERHASSETT 


In 1807, Aaron Burr and ate among whom was Dlaringalwesctt: were 
tried on an indictment for treason against the government of the United 
States.. They were accused of a design to take possession of New Orleans, 
and to erect the country watered by the Mississippi and its branches, into‘an 
independent government. _'They.were acquitted for want of evidence, though 
it was generally believed that Burr was guilty. The beautiful island, upon 
which Blannerhassett resided, is situated in the Ohio river, about 270 miles 
above Cincinnati. His former residence is now, (1545,) in ruins, but the 
island is still an object of curiosity to the traveler. 


Ler us put the case between Burr and Bl annerhassett: Let 
us compare the two men, and setile the question of precedence 
between them. Who, then,is Blannerhassett? A native of Ire- 
land, a man of letters, who fied from the storms of his own 
country, to find quiet in ours. Possessing himself of a beautiful 
island in the Ohio, he rears upon it a palace, and decorates it 
with every romantic embellishment of fancy. A shrubbery,that 
Shenstone might have’envied, blooms around-him. | Music, that 
might have charmed Calypso and her nymphs, is his. 4n ex- 
tensive library spreads its treasures before him. A philosophical 
apparatus offers to him all the secrets and mysteries of nature. 
Peace, tranquillity, and innocence shed their mingled delights 
around him. 7 

The evidence iota convince you, that this ‘is but a faint pic-_. 
ture of the real life. In the midst of all this peace, this imnocent 
~ simplicity, and this tranquillity, this feast of the mind, this pure 


banquet of the heart, the destroyer comes; he comes to change 


this paradise into a hell. A stranger presents himself. — Intro-. 
duced to their civilities, by the high rank which he had lately 
held in his country, he soon finds his way to their hearts by the 
dignity and elegance of his demeanor, the light and beauty of his 
conversation, and the seductive and fascinating power of his ad- 
dress. 

The conquest was not difficult. Innocence is ever simple and 
eredulous. Conscious of no design itself, it suspects none in 
others. It wears no guard before its breast. Every door, and 
portal, and avenue of the heart is thrown open, and all who 
choose it, may enter. Such was the state of Eden, ‘when the 


ot 


* 


262 MGUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


serpent entered its bowers. ‘The prisoner, in a more engaging 
form, winding himself into the open and unpracticed heart of the 
unfortunate Blannerhassett, found but little difficulty in changing 
the native character of that heart, and-the objects of its affection. 
By degrees, he infuses into it the fire of his own courage; a 
daring and) desperate thirst for glory; an ardor panting for 
great ‘nterprises,—for all the storm, and bustle, and hurricane of 
life. 

In a short time, the whole man is changed, and every object 
of his former delight is relinquished. No more he enjoys the 
tranquil scene; it has become flat and insipid to his taste, His 
books are abandoned, His retort and crucible are thrown aside. 
His shrubbery blooms and breathes its fragrance upon the air in . 
vain ; he likes it not. His ear no longer drinks the rich melody 
of music; it longs for the trumpet’s clangor and the eannon’s 
roar. Even the prattle of his babes, once so sweet, no longer 
affects him: and the angel smile of his wife, which hitherto 
touched his bosom with ecstasy so unspeakable, is now unseen 
and unfelt. 

Greater objects have taken possession of his ine His im- 
agination has been dazzled by visions of diadems, of stars, and 
garters, and titles of nobility. He has been taught to burn, with 
restless emulation, at the names of great heroes and conquerors. 
His enchanted island is destined soon to relapse into a wilder- 
ness; and,in a few months, the beautiful and tender 
partner of his bosom, whom he lately “ permitted not the winds 
of summer to visit too .roughly,’’ we find shivering, at mid- 
night, on the winter banks of the Ohio, and mingling her tears 
with the torrents, that froze as they fell. 

Yet this unfortunate man, thus deluded from his interest and 
his happiness, thus seduced from the paths of innocence and 
peace, thus confounded in the toils that were deliberately spread 
for him, and overwhelmed by the mastering spirit and genius of 
another,—this man, thus ruined and undone, and made to play a 
subordinate part in this grand drama of guilt.and treason, this 
man is to be called the principal offender, while he, by whom he 
was thus plunged in misery, is comparatively innocent, a mere 
accessory ! 

Is this reason? Is it law? Is it humanity? Neither the 
human heart nor the human understanding, will bear a perver- 
sion so monstrous and absurd ! so shocking to the soul! so re- 
volting to reason! Jet Aaron Burr, then, not shrink from the 
high destination which he has courted ; and having already ruined 
Blannerhassett, in fortune, character, and happiness, forever, let 
him not attempt to finish the tragedy, by thrusting that ill-fated 
man between himself and punishment.— Wirr. 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 263 


LESSON CXX. 


EXTRACT FROM A SPEECH GN THE TRIAL OF A 
; MURDERER. . 


AarnsT the prisoner at the bar, as an individtial, I cannot 
have the slightest prejudice. I would not do him the smallest 
injury-or injustice. But I do not affect to-be indifferent to the 
discovery and the punishment of this deep guilt. I cheerfully 
share in the opprobrium, how much soever it may be, which is 
east on those who feel and manifest an anxious concern, that all 
who had a part in planning, or a hand in executing this deed of 
midnight assassination, may be brought to answer for their enor- 
mous crime at the bar of public justice. aa D 

Gentlemen, it is a most extraordinary case. In some respects 
it has hardly a precedent any where ; certainly none in our New 
England history. This bloody drama exhibited no suddenly 
excited, ungovernable rage. ‘Phe actors in it were not surprised 
by any lion-like temptation upon their virtue, overcoming it 
before resistance could begin. Nor did they do the deed to 
glut savage vengeance, or satiate long-settled and deadly hate. 
It was a cool, calculating, money-making murder. It was all 
« hire! and salary, and not revenge.” It was the weighing of 
money against life; the counting out of so many pieces of silver, 
against so many ounces of blood. 

An aged man, without an enemy in the world, in his own 
house, and in his own bed, is made the-victim of butcherly mur- 
der for mere pay. _ Truly, here is a new lesson for painters and 
poets. Whoever shall hereafter draw the portrait of murder, 
if he will show it, as it has been exhibited in an example, where 
such example was least to have been looked for, in the very 
bosom of our New England society, let him not give it the grim 
visage of Moloch, the brow kitted by revenge, the face black 
with settled hate, and the blood-shot eye emitting livid fires of 
“malice ;—let him draw, rather, a decorous, smooth-faced, blood- 
less demon; a picture in repose, rather than in action; not so 
much an example of human nature in its depravity and in its 
paroxysms of crime, as an infernal nature,—a fiend in the ordi- 
nary display and development of his character. 

The deed was executed with a degree of self-possession and 
steadiness, equal to the wickedness with which it was planned. 
The circumstances now clearly in evidence, spread out the 
whole scene before us. Deep sleep had fallen.on the destined 
victim, and on all beneath his roof. A healthful old man, to 
whom sleep was sweet,—the first sound stumbers of the night 
held him in their soft but strong embrace. ‘The assassin enters 


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through the window, already prepared, into an unoccupied apart-* 
ment. With noiseless foot he paces the lonely hall, half lighted 
by the moon; he winds up the ascent of the stairs, and reaches 
the door of the chamber. Of this, he moves the lock, by soft 
and continued pressure, till it turns on its hinges; and he enters, 
and beholds his victim before him. ‘The room was uncommonly 
open to the admission of light.» The face of the innocent sleeper 
was turned from the murderer, and the beams. of the moon, rest- 
ing on the gray locks of his aged temple, showed him where to 
strike. ‘The fatal blow is given!—and the victim passes, with- 
out a struggle or a motion, from the repose of sleep to the repose 
of death ! 

It is the assassin’s purpose to make sure work; and he yet 
plies. the dagger, though it was obvious that life had been de- 
stroyed by the blow of the bludgeon. He even raises the aged 
arm, that he may not fail in his aim at the heart; and replaces 
it again over the wounds of the poniard! ‘T'o finish the picture, 
he explores the wrist for the pulse! He feels it, and ascertains 
that it beats no longer! Itis accomplished. The deed is done. 
He retreats, retraces his steps to the window, passes out through 
it as he came in, and escapes. He has done the murder—no 
eye has seen him, no ear has heard him. ‘The secret is his own, 
and it 1s safe ! ; | 

Ah! gentlemen, that was a dreadful mistake. Such a secret 
can be safe nowhere. - ‘The whole creation of God has neither 
nook nor corner, where the guilty can bestow it, and say it is 
safe. Not to speak of that eye which glances through all dis- 
guises, and beholds every thing as in the splendor of noon,— 
such secrets of guilt are never safe from detection, even by men. 
‘True it is, generally speaking, that “ murder will out.” ‘True it 
is, that Providence hath so ordained, and doth so govern things, 
that those who break the great law of heaven, by shedding men’s 
blood, seldom succeed in avoiding discovery. Especially, in a 
case exciting so much attention as this, discovery must come, 
and will come, sooner or later. A thousand eyes turn at once 
to explore every man, every thing, every circumstance connected 
with the time and place; a thousand earseatch every whisper ; 
a thousand excited minds intensely dwell.on the scene, shedding 
all their light, and ready to kindle; at the slightest circumstance, 
into a blaze of discovery. 

Meantime, the guilty soul cannot keep its own secret. It is 
false to itself, or rather, it feels an irresistible impulse to be true 
to. itself. It labors under its guilty possession, and knows not 
what to do with it. The human heart was not made for the 
residence of such an inhabitant. It finds itself preyed on by a 
torment, which it does not acknowledge to God nor man. <A 


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UP THE ECLECTIC SERIES, 265 


vulture is devouring it, and it can ask no sympathy nor assist- 
anee, either from heaven or earth. ‘The secret which the mur- 
derer possesses, soon comes to possess him; and, like the evil 
spirits of which we read, it overcomes him, and leads him whith- 
ersvever it will, He feels it beating at his heart, rising to his 
throat, and demanding disclosure. He thinks the whole world 
sees it in his face, reads it in his eyes, and almost hears its 
workings in the very silence of his thoughts. It has become 
nis master, It betrays his discretion, it breaks down his courage, 
it conquers his prudence. When suspicions from without begin 
to embarrass him, and the net of circumstances to entangle him, 
the. fatal secret struggles with still greater violence to burst forth. 
It must be confessed, it will be confessed; there is no refuge 
from confession but suicide, and suicide is confession.—W gEs- 
STER. 


LESSON CXXI 
THE DREAM OF CLARENCE 


CLARENCE, prisoner in the Tower of London. 
Enter BRAKENBURY. 


Brakenbury. Wnuy looks your grace so heavily to-day ? 
Clarence. O, I have passed a miserable night, 
So full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights, 
That, as I am a christian, faithful man, 
I would not spend another such a night, 
Though ’t were to buy a world cf happy days, 
So full of dismal terror was the time. 
Brak. What was your dream, my lord? IJ pray you tell me. 
Clar. Methought that I had broken from the Tower, 
And was embarked, to cross to Burgundy ; 
And, in my company, my brother Gloster; 
Who, from my cabin, tempted me to walk 
Upon the hatches; whence we looked toward England, _ 
And cited up a thousand heavy times, 
During the wars of York and Lancaster, 
That had befallen us. As we paced along 
Upon the giddy foofing of the hatches, 
Methought, that Gloster stumbled ; and, in falling, 
Struck me, that thought to stay him, overboard 
Into the tumbling billows of the main. 
O then, methought, what pain it was to drown! 
What dreadful noise of water in mine ears! 
What sights of ugly death within mine eyes! 
Methought,I saw a thousand fearful wrecks; 
A thousand men, that fishes gnawed upon; 
Wedges : gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl, 
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266 MGUFFEY'S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels, 
All scattered in the bottom of the sea. 
Some lay in dead men’s skulls; and, in those holes 
Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept 
(As ’t were in scorn of eyes) reflecting gems, 
That woo’d the slimy bottom of the deep, 
And mocked the dead bones that lay scattered by. 
Brak. Had you such leisure, in the time of death, 
‘lo gaze upon these secrets of the deep ? 
(Yar, Methought I had; and often did I strive 
To yield the ghost: but still the evious flood 
Kept in my soul, and would not let it forth 
To seek-the empty, vast, and wandering air; 
But smothered it within my panting bulk, 
Which almost burst to belch it in the sea. ~ 
Brak, Awaked you not, -with this sore agony ? 
Clar. O no; my dream was lengthened, after life ; 
O, then began the tempest to my soul! 
I passed, methought, the melancholy flood, 
With that grim ferryman which poets write of, 
Unto the kingdom of perpetual night. 
‘The first, that there did greet my stranger soul, 
Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick ; 
“Who cried aloud, “What seowrere for perjury 
Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence ?”’ 
And so he vanished. ‘Then came wandering by 
A shadow, like an angel, with bright hair : ~ 
Dabbled in blood; and he shrieked out aloud : 
** Clarence is come—fulse, fleeting, perjured Clarence 
That stabbed me in the field by Tewksbury : 
Seize on him, furtes, take him to your tormenis ! 
With that, methought, a legion of foul fiends 
Environed me, and howled in mine ears 
Such hideous cries, that, with the very noise, 
J, trembling, waked, and, for a season after, 
Could not believe but that I was in hell; 
Such terrible impression made my dream. 
Brak. No marvel, lord, that it affrighted you ; 
I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it. 
Clar. O, Brakenbury, I have done these things, 
That now give evidence against my soul, 
Kor Edward’s sake, and see how he requites me! 
O God: if my deep prayers cannot appease thee, 
But thou wilt be avenged on my misdeeds, 
Yet execute thy wrath on me alone: 
O, spare my guiltless wife and my poor children! 
I pray thee, gentle keeper, stay by me; 
My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep. 
Brak, Iwill, my lord: God give your grace good rest! 
[CLaRENce reposes himself on a chaer, 
Sorrow breaks seasons and reposing hours, 
Makes the night morning, and the noon-tide night.—SwaKsPearr. 


po? 


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OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 


~ 


LESSON CXXII. 


AMBITION. 


Waar is ambition? °T is a glorious cheat 
It seeks the chamber of the gifted boy, 
And lifts his humble window and comes in. 
The narrow walls expand, and spread away 
Into a kingly palace, and the roof 
Lifts to the sky, and unseen fingers work 
The ceiling with rich blazonry, and write 
His name in burning letters over all. 
And ever as he shuts his wildered eyes, 
The phantom comes, and lays upon his lips 
A spell that murders sleep, and in his ear 
Whispers a deathless werd, and on his brain 
Breathes a fierce thirst no waters will allay. 


He is its slave henceforth. His days are spent 
In chaining down his heart, and watching where 
To rise by” human weaknesses. His nights 
Bring him no rest in all their blessed hours ; 
His kindred are forgotten or estranged ; 
Unhealthful fires burn constant in his eye; 

His lip grows restless, and its smile is curled 
Half into scorn; till the bright, fiery boy, 
That *t was a daily blessing but-to see. 

His spirit was so birdlike and so pure, 

Is frozen in the very flush of youth, 

Into a cold, care-fretted, heartless man. 


And what is its reward? At besf, a name! 
Praise—when the ear has grown too dull to hear; 
Gold—when the senscs, it should please, are dead; 
Wreaths—when the hair, they cover, has grown gray; 
Fame—when the heart it should have thrilled, is numb. 

_ All things but love—when Jove is all we want, 
And close behind comes death, and ere we know, 
That even these unavailing g gifts are ours, 
He a us, stripped and naked, to the grave.— WILLIS 


LESSON CXXITL. 


ADAM’S MORNING HYMN. 


THESE are thy glorious works, Parent of Good! 
Almighty, thine this universal frame, 
Thus wondrous fair! thyself how wondrous then! 
Unspeakable! who sitt’st above these heavens, 
To us invisible, or dimly seen 
In these, thy lowest works; yet these declare 


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268 - $ M’GUFFEY’S RHETGRICAL GUIDE 


Thy goodness beyond thought, and power divine. 
Speak, ye who best can tell, ye sons of light— 
Angels; for ye behold him, and with songs 

And choral symphonies, day without night, 

Circle his throne, rejoicing; ye in heave en, 

On earth, join, all ye creatures, to extol 

Hin first, him last, him ’midst, and without end. 


Fairest of stars, last in the train of night, 
Sure pledge of day, that crown’st the smiling morn 
With ny bright eirelet, praise him in thy sphere, 
While day arises, that sweet hour of prime. , 
Thou Sun! of this great world both eye and soul, 
Acknowledge him, thy greater, sound his praise 
In thy eternal course, both when thou climb’st, 
And when high noon hast gained, and when thou fall’st. 


Moon, that now meet’st the orient sun, now fly’st 
With the fixed stars, fixed in their orb that flies, 
And ye, five other wandering fires, that move 
In mystic dance, not without song resound 
His praise, who, out of darkness, called up light. 

Air, and-ye clements, the eldest birth 
* Of Nature’s womb, that in quaternion run 
Perpetual Circle, multiform ; and mix 
‘And nourish all things; let your ceaseless change 
. Vary to our great Maker still new praise. 


Ye mists and exhalations, that now rise 
From hill or steaming lake! dusky or gray, 
Till the sun paint your fleecy skirts with gold, 
Tn honor to the world’s great Author, rise! 
Whether to deck with clouds the uncolored sky, 
Or wet the thirsty earth with falling showers, 
Rising or falling, still advance his “praise. 
His praise, ye winds, that from four quarters blow, 
Breathe soft. or loud; and wave your tops, ye pines, 
With every plant, in sign of worship, wave. 


Fountains, and ye that warble, as ye flow, 
felodious murmurs, warbling, tune his praise 
icon voices, all ye living souls : ye birds, a 
That singing up to Heaven’s gate ascend, 
Bear on your wings and in your notes his praise. 
Ye that in waters ‘glide, a and ye that walk 
The earth, and stately tread, and lowly creep; 
Witness, if I be silent, morn or even, 
To hill or valley, fountain, or fresh shade 
Made vocal by my song’ and taught his praise, 


—_— ss Oe ne ee ee ee ee ee ee ame et hh ie i 


Hail, universal Lord! be bounteous still 
To give us only good ; and if the night 
Have gathered aught of evil, or concealed, 
Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark.—MrtTon. 
on 


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OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 269 


LESSON CXXIV. 
THE FIRST OF APRIL. 


“Minprut of disaster past, 
And shrinking at the northern blast, 
Reluctant comes the timid Spring. 
Scarce a bee, with airy wing, 
Murmurs the blossomed boughs around, 
That clothe the garden’s southern bound : 
Scarce a sickly, straggling Hower, 
Deck’s the rough castle’s rifted tower: 
Scarce the hardy primrose peeps, 
From the dark dell’s tangled steeps. 


Scant along the ridgy land, 
The beans, their new-born ranks expand : 
The fresh turned soil, with tender blades, 
Thinly the spreuting barley shades: 
Fringing the forest’s devious edge, 
Half robed appears the hawthorn hedge, 
Or to the distant eye displays, 
Weakly green, its budding sprays. 


The swallow, for a moment seen, 
Skims with haste the village green : 
From the gray moor, on feeble wing, 
The screaming plover idly spring : 
The butterfly, gay painted, soon . 
Explores awhile the tepid noon, 
And fondly trusts its tender dyes, 
To fickle suns and flattering skies. 


Fraught with transient.frozen shower, 4 
Ifa cloud should haply lower, "= 
Sailing o’er the landscape dark, 

Mute, on a sudden, is the lark ; 

But when gleams the sun again, 

O’er the pearl-besprinkled plain, 

She mounts, and less’ning to the sight, 
Salutes the blithe return of light, 

And high her tuneful track pursues, 
Mid the dim rainbow’s scattered hues. 


O’er the broad fields, a tender race, 
Frisk the lambs, with faltering pace, : 
And with eager bleatings fill 
The foss that skirts the beacon’d hill. 
His free-born vigor, yet unbroke 
To lordly man’s usurping yoke, 
The bounding colt forgets to play, 
Basking beneath the noon-tide ray, 


270 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


And stitahedl alread the daisies’ pride, 
Of a green dingle’s sloping side : 

While far beneath, where nature spreads 
Her boundless length of level meads, 
(In loose luxuriance taught to stray,) 

A thousand tumbling rills inlay, 

With silver veins, the vale, or pass 
Redundant through the sparkling grass. 


Yet in these presages rude, 
*Midst her pensive solitude, 
lancy, with prophetic glance, 
Sees the teeming months advance 3 
Tne field, the forest, green and gay, 
The dappled slope, the tedded hay ; 
Sees the reddening orchard glow, 
The harvest wave, the vintage flow ; 
Sees June unfold his glossy robe 
Of thousand hues, o’er all the globe; 
Sees Ceres grasp her crown of corn, 
And plenty load her ample horn.—T. Warton. 


bows 
LESSON CXXV_ 
THE LITTLE BROOK. AND THE STAR 


ONcE upon a time, in the leafy covert of a wild, woody dingle, 
there lived (for. it was, indeed, a-thing of life )'a certain little 
brook, that might have been the happiest creature in the world, 
if it had but known when it was well-off, and been content with 
the station assigned to it by an unerring Providence. But in that 
knowledge and that content, consists the true secret of happi- 
ness ; and the silly little brook never found out the mystery, until 
it was too late to profit by it. 

I cannot say, positively, from what source the little irae 
came; but it appeared to well out from beneath the hollow root 
of an old thorn; and, collecting together its pellucid waters, so 
as to form asmall pool within that knotty reservoir, it swelled 
imperceptibly over its irregular margin, and slipped away, un- 
heard,— almost unseen,—among mossy stones and entangling 
branches.. No emerald was ever so green: never was velvet so 
soft, as the beautiful moss which encircled that tiny lake: and it 
was gemmed and embroidered, too, by all flowers that love the 
shade; pale primroses and nodding violets; anemones, with 
their fair, down-cast heads; and starry clusters of forget-me-not, 
looking lovingly, with their pale, tender eyes, into the bosom 
of their native rill. 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 271 


The hawthorn’s branches were interwoven above, with those 
of a holly; and a woodbine, climbing up the stem of one tree, 
flung across to the other its flexible arms, knotting together the 
mingled foliage, with its rich clusters. and elegant. festoons, like 
a fair sister, growing up under the guardianship of two beloved 
brothers, and, by her endearing witchery, drawing together, in 
closer union, their already united hearts. Never was little brook 
so delightfully situated; for its existence, though secluded, was 
neither monotonous nor solitary. A thousand trifling incidents 
(trifling, but not uninteresting,) were perpetually varying the 
scene; and innumerable living creatures, the gentlest and love- 
liest of the sylvan tribes, familiarly haunted its retreat. 

Beautiful, there, was every season with its changes! In the 
year’s fresh morning, delicious May or ripening June, if a light 
breeze but stirred in the hawthorn tops, down on the dimpling 
water came a shower of milky blossoms, loading the air with 
fragrance as they fell. ‘Then, came the squirrel with his mirth- 
ful antics. Then, rustling through fern and brushwood, stole 
the timid hare, half startled, as she slaked her thirst at the still 
fountain, by the hquid reflection of her own large, lustrous eyes. 
There was no lack of music round about. A song-thrush had 
his domicil hard by; and, even at night, his mellow voice was 
heard, contending with alflightingale, 4 ‘in searce unequal rivalry. 
And other vocalists, innumerable, awoke those woodland echoes. 
Sweetest of all, the low, tremulous call of the ring-dove floated, 
at intervals, through the shivering foliage,— the very soul of 
sound and tenderness. 

In winter, the glossy green and coral clusters of the holly, 
flung down their rich reflectious on the little pool, then visited 
through the leafless boughs with a gleam of more perfect day- 
light; and a red-breast, which had built its nest, and reared its 
young among the twisted roots of that old tree, still hovered 
about his summer bower, still quenched his thirst at the little 
brook, still sought his food on its mossy banks; and, tuning his 
small pipe, when every other feathered throat, but his own, was 
mute, took up the eternal hymn of gratitude, which began with 
the birth-day of Nature, and shall only cease with her expiring 
breath. So every season brought but changes of pleasaniness 
to that happy little brook: and happier still it was,—or might 
have been,—in one sweet and tender companionship, to which 
passing time and revolving seasons brought no change. 

True it was, no unintercepted sunshine ever glittered on its 
shaded waters; but, just above the spot where they were gath- 
ered into that fairy fount, a small opening in the overarching 
foliage admitted, by day, a glimpse of the blue sky; and, by 
night, the mild, pale ray of a bright fixed-star, which looked 


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272 M GUEFEY S°REDPORICAL GUIDE 


down into the stilly water, with such tender radiance as beams 
from the eyes: we love. best, when they rest upon us with an 
earnest gaze of serious tenderness. Forever, and forever, when 
night came, the beautiful star still gazed upon its earth-born love, 
diets seemed, if a wandering ai ry but skimmed its surface, to 
stir, as if with life, in responsive intercourse with its. bright 
yisitant. 

Some malicious whispers went abroad, indeed, that the enam- 
ored gaze of that radiant eye was not always exclusively fixed 
on the litte brook; that it had its oblique glances for other fa- 
vorites. But I take it, those rumors were altogether libelous, 
mere rural gossip, scandalous tittle-tattle, got up between two 
old, gray, mousing owls, who went prowling about and prying 
into their neighbor’s concerns, when they ought to have been in 
their beds, at “home. However that m xy be—though I warrant 
ihe kind creatures were too conscientious to leave the little brook 
in ignorance of their candid conjectures—it did not care one fig 
about the matter, uiterly disregarding every syllable they said. 
This would have been highly creditable to the little brook, if its 
light mode of dismissing the subject had not been parily owing 
to the engrossing influence of certai -new-fangled notions and 
desires, which, in an ee ie hour, ha d insinuated themselves 
into its hitherto untroubled bosom. W ot” 

Alas! that elementary, as well as hi man natures, should be 
liable to moral infirmity! But that they ar are, was strongly exem- 
plified in the instance of our luckless litle brook. You, must 
know, that, notwithstanding the leafy recess, in which it was so 
snugly located, was, to all zrward appearance, sequestered as in © 
the heart of a vast forest, in point of fact, it only skirted the edge 
of an extensive plain, in one part of which lay a large pond, to 
which herds of kine and oxen came down to drink, morning and 
evening, and wherein they might be seen standing motionless for 
hours together, during the sultry summer noon; when the wave- 
less water, glowing like a fiery mirror under the meridian blaze, 
reflected, with magical effect, the huge forms and varied coloring 
of the congregated cattle, as well as those ofa flock of stately, 
milk-white geese, accustomed to swim upon its bosom. 

Now, it so chanced, that from the nook of which we have spo- 
en, encircled as it was by leafy walls, there opened, precisely 
n the direction of the plain and the pond, a cunning little peep- 

hole, which must have been perforated by the demon of mischief, 
and which no eye would ever have spied out, save that of a lynx 
or an idle person. Alas! our little brook was an idle person ; she 
had nothing in the world to do from morning to night, and that 
is the root of all evil;—so, though she might have found mae 
occupation, (every body can, if they seek it in right earnest,) she 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES, 273 


speut her whole time in peering and prying about, till,.one un- 
lucky day, what should she hit upon, but that identical peep-hole, . 
through which, as through a telescope, she discovered with un- 
speakable amazement the great pond, all glowing in the noon-day 
sun; the herds of cattle and the flocks of geese, so brilliantly 
redoubled on its broad mirror. 

«My stars!’ ejaculated the little brook, (little thought she 
at that moment of the ove faithful star.) ‘* My stars! what can 
all this be? It looks something like me, only a thousand tines 
as big. What can be shining so upon it? and what can those 
great creatures be? Not LSeoash sure, though they have legs and 
tails ; but such tails! And those other white things, that float 
about, they cannot be birds, for they have no legs, and: yet they 
seem to have feathers and wings. What a life of ignorance have 
I led huddled up in this poor, little, dull place, visited only by a 
few, mean, humdrum creatures, and never suspecting that the 
world contained finer things and, grander company !”’ 

‘Tull this unfortunate discovery, the little brook. had been watt 
enough satisfied with her condition ; contented with the society of 
the beautiful and gentle creatures which frequented her retreat, and 
with the tender admiration of her own “ bright unchanging star.’ 
But now there was a end all content, and no end to garrulous 
discontent and endless ¢ riosity. The latter, she soon found 
means to satisfy, for ‘the sky -lark brought her flaming accounts 
of the sun, at whose court he pretended to be a frequent visiter ; 
and the water-wagtail, was dispatched to ascertain the precise: 
nature of those other mysterious objects, so bewildering to the 
limited faculties of the curious little brook. 

Back came the messenger, mopping,* and mowing,* and wag- 
ging his tail with the most fantastic airs of conceited importance. 
“Well, what is it!”’ quoth my lady brook. . “Water, upon my 
veracity,’ quoth Master Wagtail, ‘monstrous piece of water, 
five hundred thousand million times as big as your ladyship.”’ 
‘And what makes it so bright and glowing, instead of my dull 
color?’’ quoth my Jady. ‘The sun, that shines full upon it,” 
rejoins the envoy. ‘Oh! that glorious globe, the sky-lark talks 
of. How delightful it must be to enjoy fis notice! But what 
ure those fine creatures with legs, and those others with wings 
and no legs?’ -**Oh! those are cows, and oxen, and geese; but 
you cannot possibly comprehend their natures, never having seen 
any thing larger than a ‘hare. or wood- -pigeon.”” « How now 
Master Malapert!” quoth my lady, nettled to the quick at his 
impertinence ;—but her curiosity was not half satiated ; so she 
was fain to gulp down her own insulted dignity, and went on 


* Making wry faces. 


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(274 M’GUFFEY'S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


questioning and cross-questioning, till she was ready to bubble 
over with spite and envy at Master Wagtail’s marvelous rela- 
tions. Poor thing! she did not know what allowance to make, 
for travelers’ stories. —LirERARyY SOUVENIR. 


LESSON CXXVI. 
THE SAME—CONCLUDED. 


THENCEFORWARD, the little brook perfectly loathed her own 
peaceful, unobtrusive lot. She would have shrunk away, had it 
been possible, from the poor, innocent creatures, who had so long 
enlivened her pleasant solitude. And, worst of all—most unpar- 
donable of all—she sickened at the sight of her benignant star, 
which continued to look down upon her as fondly and kindly 
as ever, still happily unconscious of her heartless estrangement. 
Well, she went on fretting and repining, from day to day, till 
dame Nature, fairly tired out with her wayward humor, resolved 
to punish her, as she deserved, by granting her heart’s desire. 
One summer morning, came two sturdy woodmen, armed with 
saws, axes, and bill- hook ; ; to work they went, lopping, hewing, 
and clearing, and before night-fall, there lay the little brook, ex- 
posed to the broad canopy of heaven, revealed in all its littleness, 
and effectually relieved from the intrusion of those insignificant 
creatures, which had been scared from their old familiar haunt, 
by that day’s ruthless execution. 

«¢ Well !? quoth the little brook, ‘this is something like life! 
What a fine world this is! A little chilly though, and I feel, I 
don’t. know how, quite dazzled and confounded. But to-morrow, 
when that great, red orb comes over-head again, I shall be warm 
and comfortable enough, no doubt; and then, I dare say, some 
of those fine, great ehesine es will come and visit me; and who 
knows but I may grow as big as that great pond, in time, now 
that I enjoy the same advantages.”’» Down went the sun; up 
rose the moon; out shone innumerable hosts of sparkling orbs, 
and among them, ¢hat “ bright particular star’’ looked out, pre- 


- eminent in lustre. Doubtless, its pure and radiant eye dwelt, 


with tender sorrow, on the altered condition of its beloved little 
brook. But that volatile and inconstant creature, quite intoxi- 
cated with her change of fortune, and with the fancied admira- 
tion of the twinkling myriads she beheld, danced and dimpled, in 
the true spirit of flirtation, with every glittering spark, till she 
was quite bewildered among the multitude of her adorers, and 
welcomed the gray hour of dawn, without having vouchsafed so 
much as one glance of recognition at her old, unalienated friend. 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. +, 2 


tes 

Down went the moon and stars; up rose the sun, and higher 
and higher he mounted in the cloudless heaven, and keener 
waxed the impatience of the ambitious little brook. Never did 
court beauty so eagerly anticipate her first presentation to the 
eye of majesty! And, at last, arrived the hour of fruition. 
Bright over-head careered the radiant orb ; down darted his fer- 
vid, fiery beams vertically upon the centre of the little brook, 
penetrating its shallow waters to the very pebbles beneath. At 
first, it was so awed and agitated, and overpowered by the con- 
descending notice of majesty, fancying, (as small folks are apt 
to fancy,) that it had attracted peculiar observation, that it was 
hardly sensible of the unusual degree of warmth, which began 
to pervade its elementary system: but presently, when the fer- 
- mentation of its wits had a little subsided, it began to wonder 
how much hotter it should grow, still assuring itself that the 
sensation, though very novel, was exceedingly delightful. 

But at length, such an accession of fever came on, that the 
self-delusion was no longer practicable, and it began to hiss, as 
if set over a great furnace. Oh, what would the little brook 
have given now for only one bough of the holly or the haw- 
thorn, to intercept those intolerable rays! or for the gentle 
winnowing of the black-bird’s wing, or even the poor robin’s, to 
fan its glowing bosom. But. those’ protecting boughs lay scat- 
tered around; those small, shy creatures had sought out a dist- 
ant refuge, and my lady brook had nothing left but to endure 
what-she could not alter. «“ And after all,’? quoth she, ‘it’s 
only for a little while; by and by, when his majesty only looks 
sideways at me, I shall be less overcome with his royal favor, 
and in time, no doubt, be able to sustain his full gaze, without 
any of these unbecoming flutters, all owing to my rustic educa- 
tion and the confined life I have hitherto led.” 

Well, “his majesty” withdrew westward as usual, and my 
lady brook began to subside into a comfortable degree of tempe- 
rature, and to gaze about her again, with restored complacency. 
What was her exultation, when she beheld the whole train of 
geese waddling towards her from the great pond, taking that 
way homeward out of sheer curiosity, as I suppose. As the 
goodly company drew nearer and nearer, our brook admired the 
stateliness of their carriage, and persuaded herself, it was emi- 
nently graceful,“ for undoubtedly, they are persons of distin- 
guished rank,’ quoth she; “‘and how much finer voices they 
must have, than those little, vulgar fowls, whose twittering used 
to make me so nervous.’ Just then, the whole flock set up 
such a gabbiing and screeching, as they passed close by, that 
the little brook, well nigh leaped out of her reservoir, with hor- 
ror and amazement; and to complete her consternation, one fat, 


—— 


276 M’GUFFEY'S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


3 


old, dowager goose, straggling awkwardly out of the line of 
march, plumped right down into the middle of the pool, floune- 
ing and floundering about at a terrible rate, filling its whole cir- 
cumference with her ungainly person, and scrambling out again 
with an unfeeling precipitation, which cruelly disordered - the’ 
unhappy victim ef her barbarous outrage. 

Hardly were they out of sight, those awkward and unmans 
nerly creatures,—hardly had the eee little brook begun to 
breathe, after that terrible visitation, when all her powers of self- 
possession were called for, by the abrupt approach of another 
and more prodigious personage. A huge ox, goaded by the in- 
tolerable stinging of a gad-fly, broke away from his fellows of 
the herd and from. his cool station in the creat pond, and came 
Be ane down, in his blind agony, lashing the air with his tail, 
and making the vale echo with-his furious bellowing. To the 
woods just beyond the new cleared spot, he took his frantic 
eourse, and, the little brook lying in his way, he splashed. into 
it. and out of it) without ceremony, or probably so much as 
heeding the hapless. object, subjected to his ruffian treatment. 
That one splash pretty nearly annihilated the miserable little 
brook. ‘The huge fore-hoofs forced themselves into its mossy 
bank ; the hind ones, with a single extricating plunge, pounded 
bank and brook together into a muddy hole; and the tail, with 
one insolent whisk, spattered halt the black mass over the sur- 
rounding herbage. 

And now, what was wanting to complete the ruin and de- 
gradation of the unhappy | little brook? -A thick, black pud- 
dle was all that remained of the once pellucid pool. Poor 
little brook ! if it had-erred greatly, was it not greatly humbled ? 
Night eame again; but darkness was on the face of the un- 


happy brook, and well for it, that it was total darkness; for in 


that state of conscious, degradation, how could it- have sustained 
the searching gaze of its pure, forsaken: star ?~ Long, dark, and 
companionless. was the first night of misery, aad when morning 
dawned, though the turbid water had regained a degree of trans- 
parency, it had. sshrunk away.to a tenth part of its former * fair 
proportions,’ TpO- much had it lost by evaporation in that fierce 
solar alembies so much from absorption in the loosened and 
choking soil or its once firm and -beautiful margin; and so much 
by -dispersion, from the wasteful havock of i its destructive inuva- 
ders. 

Again, the great sun looked down upon it; again, the vertical 
beams drank fiercely of its shrunken water ; and when evening - 
came, no more remained of th iappoor litile brook, than just so 
many drops as filled the hollow of one of those large pebbles 
Wich had paved its uns liegipo 4 in the day of its brightness 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 277 


- 


and beauty. But never, in the season of its brightest plenitude, 
was the water of the little brook so clear—so perfectly clear and 
pure, as that last portion, which tay,like a liquid gem, in the 
small concave of that polished stone. It had been nitered from 
every grosser particle, refined by rough discipline, purified by 
adversity, even from those lees of vanity and light-mindedness, 
which had adulterated its sparkling waters in their prosperous 
state. Just as the last sunbeam was withdrawing its amber light 
from that small pool, the old, familiar robin hopped on the edge 
of the hollow pebble, and dipping his beak once and again in the 
diminished fount, which had slaked his thirst so often and so 
long, drooped: his russet wings with a slight quivering motion, 
and broke forth into a short, sweet gush of parting song, before 
he winged his way forever from his expiring benefactress. 
‘Twilight had melted into night—dark night—for neither moon 
nor stars were visible through the dark clouds that canopied the 
earth. In darkness and silence lay the little brook; forgotten it 
seemed, even by its benignant star, as though its last drops were 
exhaled into nothingness its languishing existence already 
struck out of the list of created things. ‘Time had been, when 
such apparent neglect would have excited its highest indignation ; 
but now, it submitted humbly and resignedly to the deserved in- 
fliction. And, after a little while, looking fixedly upwards, it 
almost fancied that the form, if not the radiance of the beloved 
_ star was faintly perceptible through the intervening darkness. 
The little brook was not deceived: cloud after cloud rolled 
away from the central heaven, till at last, the unchanging star 
was plainly discernible through the fleecy vapor which yet ob- 
scured its perfect lustre. But, through that silvery vail, the 
beautiful star*looked intently on its repentant love; and there 
was more of tenderness, of pity, and reconciliation in that dim, 
trembling gaze, than if the pure, heavenly dweller had shone 
out in perfect brightness on the frail, humbled creature below. 
Just.then, a few large drops fell heavily from the disparting cloud ; 
and one, trembling for a moment with starry light, fell, like a 
forgiving tear, into the bosom of the little pool. . 
Long—long and undisturbed (for no other eye looked out from 
heaven that night) was the last mysterious communion of the 
reconciled friends. No doubt, that voiceless intercourse was yet 
eloquent of hope and futurity; for though all that remained of 
the pure little brook was sure to be exhausted by the next day’s 
fiery trial, it would but change its visible form, to become an im- 
perishable essence: and who can tell whether the elementary 
nature, so purged froin eae may not have been. 
received up into the sphere of its heavenly friend, and indis- 
solubly united with the celestial substance.—Lir. SouvENIR.” 


| 278 M'GUFFEY'’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


ol 


LESSON CXXVII: 
HYMN.ON THE SEASONS. 


Tues, as they change, Almighty Father, these 
Are but the varied God. ‘The rolling year 
_Is-full of Thee. . Forth in the pleasing spring 
Thy beauty walks, thy tenderness and love. 
Wide flash the fields; the fresh’ning air is balm; 
Icho the mountains round; the forest smiles; 
And ‘every sense and every heart is joy. . 
‘Then, comes thy glory in the summer months, 
With light and heat refulgent. ‘Then, thy sun 
Shoots full perfection through the swelling year ; 
And oft. thy voice in dreadful thunder speaks, 
And oft, at dawn, deep noon, or swelling eve, 
By brooks and groves, in hollow, whisp’ring gales. 
Thy bounty shines in autumn, unconfined, 
And spreads a common feast for all that live. 
In winter, awful thou! with clouds and storms 
Around thee thrown, tempest o’er tempest rolled, 
Majestic darkness! On the whirlwind’s wing 
Riding sublime, thou bid’st the world adore, 
And humblest nature with thy northern blast. 


% * * * “seer * * 1 


But, wandering oft, with rude, unconscious gaze, 
Man marks not thee; marks not the mighty hand, 
That, ever busy, wheels the silent spheres; 

Works in the secret deep; shoots, steaming, thence 
The fair profusion that o’erspreads the spring ; 
Flings from the sun, direct, the flaming day ; 

Feeds every creature; hurls the tempest forth; 
And, as on earth, the grateful change revolves, 
With transport touches all the springs of life. 


: 
| 
| 


Nature, attend! join, every living soul 
Beneath the spacious temple of: the sky, 
In adoration, join; and ardent, raise 
One general song! ‘To him, ye vocal gales, ‘ 
Breathe soft, whose spirit in your freshness breathes ; 
And ye, whose bolder note is heard afar, . 
Who shake th’ astonish’d world, lift high to heaven 
Th’ impetuous song, and say from whom your rage. 
His praise, attune, ye brooks; ye trembling rills; 
Ye headlong torrents, rapid and profound ; 
Ye softer floods, that lead the humid maze 
Along the vale; and thou, majestic main, 
A secret world of wonders in thyself, 
Sound his stupendous praise, whose greater voice 
Or bids you roar, or bids your roaring cease. 
Soft roll your incense, herbs, and fruits, and flowers, 


4. 
ara oh 
' em 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 279 


In iningled clouds to him, whose sun exalts, 

Whose breath perfumes you, and whose pencil paints. 
Ye forests, bend, ye harvests, wave to him; 
Breathe your still song into the reaper’s heart, 

As home he goes, beneath the joyous moon. 


* ® it * * * * 


——— In swarming cities vast, 
Assembled men, to the deep organ join 
The long-resounding voice; oft breaking clear, 
At solemn pauses, through the swelling base ; 
And, as each mingling flame increases each, 
In one united ardor rise to heaven. 
Or, if you rather choose the rural shade, 
And find a fane. in every spreading grove, 
There, let the shepherd’s lute, the virgin’s lay, 
The prompting seraph, and the poet’s lyre, 
Still sing the God of Seasons, as they roll. 


For me, when I forget the darling theme, 

Whether the blossom blows, the Summer ray 
Russets the plain, whisp’ring Autumn gleams, 

Or Winter rises in the black’ning east, 

Be my tongue mute, my fancy paint no more, 

And, dead to joy, forget my heart to beat. 

Should fate command me to the farthest verge 

Of the green earth, to distant, barb’rous climes, 
Rivers unknown to song; where first the sun 

Gilds Indian mountains, or his setting beam 

Flames on th’ Atlantic isles; ’tis nought to me, 

. Since God is ever present, ever felt . 
In the void waste, as in the city full; ; 
And where he, vital, breathes, there must be joy. 


When even, at last, the solemn hour shall come, 
And wing my mystic flight to worlds unknown ; 
I, cheerful, will obey.. There, with mew powers, 
Will rising wonders sing. I cannot go 

Where universal love smiles not around, 
Sustaining all yon orbs and all their suns: 
From seeming evil still educing good, 

And better thence again, and better still, 

In infinite progression. But I lose 

Myself in Hin, in light ineffable! 

Come, then, expressive silence, muse his praise. —Tuompson, 


“> oe 


IRENE Om oe 


» *S ; 
Nn ioe ia Sa 


Se 


sla c 


280 MGUFPFEY'S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


x“ 


LESSON CXXVII. 


THE QUACK. 
Scene—The Inn. 
inter Hostess, followed by Lampepo, a Quack Doctor. 
Hostess. Nay, nay; another fortnight. 
Lanpedo. + can’t be. 
‘The man ’s as well as Lam: have some mercy ! 
He hath been here almost three weeks already. 
Zost. Well, then, a week. ; 
Lamp. We may detain him a week. [wth a drawn sword. 
[£nler Barruazar, the patient, from behind, in his nighi-gown, 
You talk now like a reasonable hostess, 
That sometimes has a reckoning with her consciénce. 
Hust. We still believes he has an inward bruise.. 
Lamp. I would to heaven he had! or that he ’d siipp’d 

His shoulder-blade, or broke a leg or two, 

(Not that I bear his person any malice,) 

Or lux’d an arm, or.even sprained his ancle! 

Hosi. Aye, broken any thing except his neck. 
Lamp. However, for a week I ’ll manage him: 

Though he had the constitution of a horse; ” 

A farrier shall prescribe for him. 
Balthazar. A farrier! . [.4side.-| ~~, 
Lamp. ‘To-morrow, we phlebotomize again ; 

Next day, my new invented, patent draught; 

Then, I have some pills prepared ; 

On Thursday, we throw in the bark ; on Friday 
Balth. [Coming forward.] Well, sir, on Friday—what on Friday? 

Come, proceed. 
Lanip. Discovered! 
pone Mercy, noble sir! - Q They fall on their knees. 
Lamp. We crave your mercy! § 
Balth. On your knees? "tis well! 

Pray, for your time is short. 
Host. . Nay, do not kill@as.- 
Balth. “You have been tried, condemn’d, and only wait 

For execution. Which shall I begin with ? 


». Lamp. The lady, by all means, sir. 


Balih. Come, prepare. [Zo the hostess. ] 
Fost. Have pity on the weakness of my sex! 
Balih. Tell me, thou quaking mountain of gross fiesh, 
Tell me, and in a breath, how many poisons— 
If you atterapt it—[ Zo Lamprpo, who is making off.) 
you have cooked up for me? 
Host. None, as 1 hope for mercy! 
Balik. 1s not thy wine a poison? 
fost. No, indeed, sir; 
*Tis not, IL own, of the first quality ; 
But 
Balth. What 3 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 281 


Host. J always give short measure, sir, 
And ease my conscience that way. 
Balih. Vase your conscience ! 
I’ll ease your conscience for you. 
Host. Mercy, sir! 
Balth. Rise, if thou canst, and hear me. 
Host. ‘Your commands, sir? 
Balth. If, in five minutes, all things are prepared _ 
For my departure, you may yet survive. 
Host. It shall be done in less. 
Balth. Away, thou lump fish! [Hatt Hostess. 
Lamp. So! now comes my turn' ’tis all over with me! 
‘There’s dagger, rope, and ratsbane in his looks! 
Balih. And now, thou sketch and outline of a man! 
Thou thing that hast no shadow in the sun! 
Thou eel in a consumption, eldest born 
Of Death on Famine! thou anatomy 
Of a starved pilchard! 
Lamp. Ido confess my leanness. I am spare, 
And, therefore, spare me. 
Balth. Why! wouldst thou not have made me 
A thoroughfare, for thy whole shop to pass ee ae q 
Lamp. Man, you know, must live. 
Balth. . Yes: he must die, too. 
Lamp. For my patients’ sake— 
Balih. Yl send thee to the major part of them. 
The window, sir, is open; come, prepare. 
Lamp. Pray, consider ; 
I may hurt some one-in the street. 
“Balth. Why, then, — / 
Ill rattle thee to pieces in a dice-box, 
Or grind thee in a coffee-mill to powder, 
For thou must sup with Pluto; so, make ready ; 
Whilst I, with this good smali-sword for a lancet, 
Let thy starved spirit out, (for blood thou hast none,) 
And nail thee to the wall, where thou shalt look 
Like a dried beetle with a pin stuck through him 
Lamp. Consider my poor wife. Ge 7 
Balth. Thy wife! 
Lamp. My wife, sir. 
Balth. "ast thou dared think of matrimony, too? 
No flesh upon thy bones, and take a wife! 
Lump. I took a wife, because I wanted flesh. 
I have a wife, and three angelic babes, 
Who, by those looks, are w rell nigh fatherless. 
Balih. Well, well! your wife and children shall plead for you. 
Come, come; the pills! where are the pills? produce them. 
Lamy. Here is the box. 
Galth. Were it Pandora’s, and each single pill 
Had ten diseases in it, you should take them. 
Lamp. What, all? 
Balth. Aye, all: and quickly too. Come sir, begin-—that’s well ! 
Another. 
24 


iy ied fate a aed ee eae eae 


2 ER oy A a eT Nee pe Thos 


282 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


Lamp. One’s a dose. 
Balth. Proceed, sir. 
Lamp. What will become of me? 
Let me go home, and set my shop to rights, 
And, like immortal Cesar, die with decency. 
Balth. Away! and thank thy lucky star I have not 
Bray’d thee in thine own mortar, or exposed thee 
For a large specimen of the lizard genus. 
Lamp. Wouid I were one! for they can feed on air. 
Balih. Home, sir, and be more honest. [ Exit. 
Lamp. If I am not, 


_Pul be more wise, at least. [Lait } ANONYMOUS. 


LESSON CXXIX. 


EULOGY ON CANDLE-LIGHT 


Hart, candle-light ! without disparagement to sun or moon, the 
kindliest luminary of the three,—if we may not rather style 
thee their radiant deputy, mild viceroy of the moon! We love 
to read, talk, sit silent, eat, drink, sleep, by candle-light. It is 
every body’s sun and moon: it is our peculiar and household 
planet. Wanting it, what savage, unsocial nights must our an- 
cestors have spent, wintering in caves and unilluminated fast- 
nesses! ‘They must have ‘lain about, and grumbled at one 
another in the dark. What repartees could have passed, when 
you must have felt about for a smile, and handled a neighbor's 
cheek, to be sure that he understood it? This aecounts for the 
seriousness of the elder poetry. It has a somber cast, derived 
from the tradition of those unlanterned nights. 

Jokes came in with candles. We wonder how they saw to 
pick up a pin, if they had any. How did they sup? What a 
medley of chance-carying they must have made of it !—here, 
one had got the leg of a goat, when he wanted a horse’s should- 
er; there, another had dipped his scooped palm in a kid-skin 
of- wild honey, when he meditated right mare’s milk. ‘There is 
neither good eating nor drinking, in the dark. ‘The senses give 
and take reciprocally. Can you tell veal from pork, without 
light? or distinguish sherry from pure Malaga? Take away 
the candle from the smoking man ; by the glimmering of the left 
ashes, he knows that he is still smoking; but he knows it only 
by an inference, till the restored light coming in to the aid of 
the olfactories, reveals to both senses the full aroma. Then, 
how he redoubles his puffs, how he burnishes! — 

There is absolutely no such thing as reading, but by a candle, 
We have tried the affectation of a book at noon day, in gardens, 


Pee - - 


3 
OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 283 


and in sultry arbors; but it was labor thrown away. Those 
gay motes in the beam come about you, hovering and teasing, 
like so many coquets, that will have you all to their self, and 
are jealous of your abstractions. By the midnight taper, the 
writer digests his meditations. By the same light, you must 
approach to their perusal, if you would catch the flame, the 
odor. It is a mockery, all that is reported of the influential 
Phebus*. No true se ever owed its birth to the sun’s light. 
They are abstracted works— 


‘Things that were born, when none but the still night 
And his dumb candle saw his pinching throes.” 


Daylight may furnish the images, the crude material ; but for 
the fine “shapings, the irue turning and filing, they must be con- 
tent to hold their inspiration of the candle. The mild, inter- 
nal light that reveals them, like fires on the domestic hearth, 
goes out in the sunshine. Night and silence call out the starry 
fancies. Milton’s morning hymn, we would hold a good wager, 
was penned at midnight; and ‘Taylor’s richer description of a 
sunrise, smells decidedly of a taper. Even ourself, in these our 
humbler lucubrations, tune our best measured cadences, (prose 
has her cadences,) not unfrequently to the charm of the drowsy 
watchman, “blessing the doors,’’.or the wild sweep of winds 
at midnight. Even now, a loftier Speculation than we have yet 
attempted, courts our endeavors. We would indite something 
about the solar system. betty, bring the candles. 

Cuar es LAMBE 


LESSON CXXX. 


ULRILITY. OF; LIG.HE. 


Tue metaphorical expressions of all ages and nations with 
respect to light, sufficiently evince the value in which that ines- 
timable gift is held. In the sacred Scriptures, indeed, not only 
are temporal blessings compared to light, and temporal evils to 
darkness, but holy deeds are frequently described under the char- 
acter of the former, and unholy deeds under the character.of the 
latter; and, with respect to classical or oriental literature, a 
thousand instances might easily be adduced, illustrative of the 
same metaphorical use of the terms in question. 

There is something so congenial to our nature in light, some- 
thing so repulsive in darkness, that, probably on this ground 


* The sun. 


— « 


TIT SGE EPR ED OI Ne 


Yee Ral, BARA Ton te ae Ri 


Ro et 


Terns to 


284 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


alone, the very aspect of inanimate things is instinctively either 
grateful or the reverse, in consequence of our being reminded 
by that aspect, of the one or of the other; so that, on this prin- 
ciple, perhaps, particular colors, throughout every province of 
nature, are more or less acceptable, in proportion as they ap- 
proach nearest or recede farthest, from the character of light, 
whether reflected immediately from the heavenly bodies, or from 
the azure of the sky, or from the thousand brilliant hues, with 
which the setting or the rising sun, illuminates its attendant 
clouds. Jn illustration of this principle, gold and silver, among 
metals, might be opposed to lead and iron; and, among flowers, 
the brilliancy of the crocus, the lily, or the rose, to the lurid as- 
pect of henbane or belladonna. 

The abundant supply of light from its natural source, the sun, 
and the ease with which it is producible, by artificial means, 
during the absence of that luminary, render us habitually less 
sensible of its real value, than, undoubtedly, we should be, were 
we to experience a long continued privation of it. And,as to the 
regularly periodical privation of it which we experience, in con- 
sequence of the alternation of night with day, this is so far from 
being an evil, that it is obviously beneficial; inasmuch, as in con- 
sequence of this very absence, sleep is both directly and indi- 
rectly conciliated ; without which gift of Heaven, all our facul- 
ties would soon be exhausted. 

The privation of light is rarely, if ever, total; for though the 
empire of time is divided in’nearly equal proportion between 
day and night, there are comparatively few nights in which there 
is not diffused through the air a sufficient quantity of light for 
many of the purposes of life. Let us, however, suppose for a 
moment, that, all the faculties and recollections of man remaining 
unaltered, and the general processes of nature continuing if 
possible the same as they are now, the existence of light were 
withdrawn from this earth. What would then be the condition 
of mankind? How could those occupations of life be pursued, 
which are necessary for the supply of our simplest wants? 


Who, in that case, could yoke the ox to the plow, or sow the 


seed, or reap the harvest? But, indeed, under such a suppo- 
sition, there would soon be neither seed for the ground nor 
grain for food; for if deprived of light, the character of vegeta- 
tion is completely altered, and its results, so far as general utility 
is concerned, destroyed. 

But, although this supposition of a general and total privation 
of light is, on all probable grounds of reasoning, inadmissible, 
it may yet serve to show us, indirectly, the value of the good 
we enjoy. It will be, however, a more grateful task to enumer- 
ate the actual benefits which we derive from the agency of light. 


- 
~ Oe vs 3 


> ae * 


\ 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. _ 285 


ee 


In the Leastable world, upon the products of which, animal 
existence ultimately depends, light is the prime mover of every 
change that takes place. Exclude the agency of light, and, ina 
short time, the most experienced botanist might possibly be at a 
loss to know the plant with which he is, otherwise, most famil- 
lar, so completely obliterated are all its natural characters, wheth- 
er of color, form, taste, or odor. If a branch of i ivy or of any 
‘spreading plant, penetrate, during the progress of its vegetation, 
into a dark cellar or any similar subterraneous situation, it is 
observable, that, with the total loss of color, its growth advances’ 
with great rapidity, but its proportions alter to such a degree, as 
often to mask its original form; and, if it be chimically exam-. 
ined, its Juices—it mig! it almost be said, its whole substance— 
would be found to consist of little else than mere water; and 
whatever odor it may have, is characteristic, not of its original 
nature, but of its unnatural mode of growth. 

The total result is, that all the native beauties and uses of a 
vegetable growing under these circumstances, are lost. The eye 
is neither delighted by any varicty or brightess of color, nor is 
the sense of smell gratified by any fragrance; the degeneracy of 
its fibre into mere pulp, renders it unfit for any mechanical pur- 
pose; and the resinous and other principles, upon which its 
nutritive and medicinal virtues depend, cease to be developed. 

The observation of those modifications which light undergoes - 
when reflected from the surfaces of bodies, has given rise to one 
of those impressive arts, which are capable of contributing no 
less to the refinement of society at large, than to the gratification 
of the individuals who cultivate or admire them. For who can 
look on the productions of such masters as Guido, apl hael, or 
Michael Angelo, without imbibing a portion of the spirit which 
animated those masters in the execution of their inimitable 
works? Or, who can successfully describe those emotions, 
which. are excited by the portrait of a beloved object—a child, 
or parent, now no more? or by the representation of that home 
and its surrounding scenery, in which the careless and happy 
hours of childhood were passed ?—-Kipp. 


LESSON CXXXI. 
APOSTROPHE TO THE SUN. 


Center of light and energy! thy way . 
_ Is through the unknown void; thou hast thy throne, 
Morning, and evening, and at noon of day, 

Far in the blue, untended and alone: 


286 WGUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


Ere the first-wakened airs of earth had blown, 
On didst thou march, triumphant in thy light; 

Then didst thou send thy glance, which still hath flown 
Wide through the never-ending worlds of night, 
And yet, thy full orb burns with flash unquenched and bright. 


Thy path is high in heaven; we cannot gaze 

On the intense of light that girds thy car; 
There is a crowmof glory in thy rays, 

Which bears thy pure divinity afar, 

To mingle with the equal light of star; 
For thou, so vast to us, art, in the whole, 

One of the sparks of night that fire the air; 
And, as around thy center planets roll, 
So thou, too, hast thy path around the central soul. 


Thou lookest on the earth, and then it smiles ; 
Thy light is hid, and all things droop and mourn; 
Laughs the wide sea around her budding isles, 
When through their heaven thy changing car is borne; 
Thou wheel’st away thy flight,—the woods are shorn 
Of all their waving locks, and storms awake ; 
All, that was once so beautiful, is torn 
By the wild winds which plow the lonely lake, 
And, in their maddening rush, the crested mountains shake, 


The earth lies buried in a shroud of snow : 
Life lingers, and would die, but thy retuin 
Gives to their gladdened hearts an overflow 
Of ali the power,.that brooded in the urn 
Of their chilled frames, and then they proudly spurn 


All bands that would confine, and give to air 


Hues, fragrance, shapes of beauty, till they burn, 
When, on a dewy morn, thou dartest there 
Rich waves of gold, to wreath with fairer light the fair. 


The vales are thine :—and when the touch of Spring 
Thrills them, and gives them gladness, in thy light 
They glitter, as the glancing swallow’s wing 
Dashes the water in his winding flight, 
And leaves behind a wave, that crinkles bright, 
And widens outward to the pebbled shore : 
The vales are thine ; and when they wake from night, 
‘The dews that bend the grass tips, twinkling o’er 
Their soft and oozy beds, lock upward and adore. 


The hills are thine :—they catch thy newest beam, 
And gladden in thy parting, where the wood 
Flames out in every leaf and drinks the stream, 
That flows from outthy fullness, as a flood: 
Bursts from an unknown land, and rolls the food 
Of nations in its waters; so thy rays 
Flow and give brighter tints, than ever bud, 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES 


When a clear sheet of ice reflects a blaze 


‘Of many twinkling gems, as every glossed bough plays .- 


Thine are the mountains,—where they purely lift 
Snows that have never wasted, in a sky 

Which hath no stain; below, the storm may drift 
Its darkness, and the thunder-gust roar by ;— 
Aloft in thy eternal smile they lie 

Dazzling but cold ;—thy farewell glance looks there, 
And when below thy hues of beauty die, 

Girt round them, as a rosy belt, they bear 

Into the high, dark vault, a brow that still is fair. 


The clouds are thine; and all their magic hues 
Are penciled by thee ; when thou bendest low 
Or comest in thy strength, thy hand imbues 
Their waving folds with such a perfect glow 
Of all pure tints, the fairy pictures.throw 
Shame on the proudest art. 


These are thy trophies, and thou bend’st thy arch, 
The sign of triumph, in a seven-fold twine, 
Where the spent storm is hasting on its march 
And there the glories of thy light combine, 
And form, with perfect curve, a lifted line, 
Striding the earth and air ; ; man looks and tells 
How Peace and Mercy in its beauty shine, 
And how the heavenly messenger impels 
Her glad wings on the path, that thus in ether swells. 


The ocean is thy vassal ;—thou dost sway 
His waves to thy dominion, and they go 
Where thou, in heaven, dost guide them on their way, 
Rising and falling in eternal flow : 
“Thou lookest on the waters, and they glow, 
And take them wings,and spring aloft in air, 
And change to clouds, and then, dissolving, throw 
Their treasures back to earth, and, rushing, tear 
The mountain and the vale, as proudly on Y they bear. 


In thee, first light, the bounding ocean smiles, 
When the quick winds uprear it in a swell, 
That rolls in glittering green around the isles, 
Where ever-springing fruits and blossoms dwell. 
Oh! with a gifted joy no tongue can tell, 
I hurry o’er the waters when the sail 
Swells tensely, and the light keel glances well 
Over the curling billow, and the gale 


287 


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Comes off from spicy groves to tell its winning tale—Perrccva.. 


288 
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M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


LESSON CXXXil 
DARKNESS 


I wap a dream, which was not all a dream. 
The bright sun was extinguished, and the stars 
Did wander darkling in the eternal space, 
Rayless and pathless, and the icy earth 
Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air; 
Morn came, and went—and came, and brought no day, 
And men forgot their passions, in the dread 
Of this their desolation; and all hearts 
Were chilled into a selfish prayer for light. 


And they did live by watch-fires ; and the thrones, 
The palaces of crowned kings; the huts, 
The habitations of all things which dwell, 


_ Were burnt for beacons; cities were consumed, 


And men were gathered round their blazing homes 
To look once more into each other’s face; 

Happy were those who dwelt within the eye 

Of the voleanoes and their mountain torch. 


A fearful hope was all the world contained ; 
Forests were set on fire ; but, hour by hour, 
They fell and faded, and the crackling trunks 
Extinguished with a crash ;—and all was black. 
The brows of men, by the ‘unearthly light, 
Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits 
The flashes fell upon them ; some lay down, 
And hid their eyes, and wepts and some did rest 
Their chins upon their clinched hands, and smiled ; 
And others hurried to and fro, and fed 
Their funeral piles with fuel, and look’d up 
With mad disquietude on the dull sky, 

The pall of a past world ; and then again, 
With curses cast them down upon the dust, 
And gnash’d their teeth and howl’d. 


The wild birds shriek’d, : 
And, terrified, did flutter on the ground, 
And flap their useless wings; the wildest. brutes 
Came tame and tremulous; and vipers crawl’d 
And twin’d themselves among the multitude, 
Hissing, but stingless:—they were slain for food : 
And War, which for a moment was no more, 
Did glut himself again; a meal was bought 


- With blood, and each sat sullenly apart, 


Gorging himself in gloom: no love was left; 

All earth was but one thought, and that was death, 
immediate and inglorious; and the pang 

Of famine fed upon all entrails; men 

Died, and their bones were tombless as their flesh, 


CF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 289 


The meager by the meager were devouret 5 
Even dogs assail’d their masters, all save one, 
And he was faithful to a corse, and kept 
‘The birds, and beasts, and famished men at bay, 
Till hinger clung them, or the dropping dead 
- Lured their lan jaws; himself sought out no food, 
But with a piteous and pe-petual moan, 
And a quick,desolate crv, licking the hand 
Which answered not with a caress, he died. 


The crowd was famished by degrees; but two 
Of an enormous city did survive, 
And they were enemies ; they met beside _ 
The dying embers of an altar-place, f 
Where had been heap’d a mass of holy things 
For an unholy usage: they raked up, 
And, shivering, scraped with their cold, skeleton handg, 
The feeble ashes, and they made a flame 
Which was a mockery ; then, they lifted up 
Their eyes as it grew lighter, and beheld 
Each other’s aspects—saw, and shriek’d, and died— 
Even of their mutual hideousness they died, 
‘Unknowing who he was, upon whose brow 
Famine had written Fiend. - 


The world was void; 
The populous and the powerful was a lump, 
Seasonless, herblesailllcléss, manless, lifeless 
A lump of death—a chaos of hard clay. 
The rivers, lakes, and ocean,all stood still, 
And nothing stirred within their silent depths; 
Ships, sailorless, lay rotting on the sea, 
And their masts fell down piecemeal ; as they dropp’d, 
They slept on the abyss without a surge. 
The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave; 
The moon, their mistress had expired before; 
The winds were wither’d in the stagnant dir, 


And the clouds perish’d. Darkness had no need ta 
Of aid from them.—She was: the universe.—Byron. _ 


Cok rae 


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LESSON CXXXIII. 
CHARACTER OF THE PURITANS. 


‘lims Puritans were men, whose minds had drawn a peculiar 
character from the daily contemplation of superior beings and 
eternal interests. Not contented with acknowledging, in general 
terms, an over-ruling Providence, they habitually ascribed every 
event to the Great Being, for whose power nothing was too vast, 
fur whose inspection nothing was too minute. ‘To know him, 

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290 | M'’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


to serve him, to enjoy him, was, with them, the ere end uf ex- 
istence. ~ - 

They rejected, with contempt, the ceremonious homage which 
other sects substituted for the pure worship of the,soul. Instead 
of catching occasional glimpses of the deity through an obscur- 
ing vail, they aspired to gaze full on the intolerable brightness, 
and to commune with him, face to face. Hence originated their 
eontempt for terrestrial distinctions. . The difference between 
the greatest and meanest of mankind seemed to vanish, when 
compared with the boundless interval which separated the whole 
race from him on whom their-eyes were constantly fixed. They 
revognized no | title to superiority, but his favor; and confident of 
that favor, the ‘ despised all. the*a 
dignities of: the world. If they Wire unacquainted wih the 
works of philosophers and poets, they were deeply read in the 
oracles of God. If their names were not found in the registers 


of heralds, they felt assured that they were recorded in the Book 


of Life. If their steps were pot accompanied by a splendid 
train of menials, eagens of ministering angels had charge over 
them. Their palacéS were houses not made with hands;, their 
diadems, crowns of glory which should never fade away ! 

» On the rich and the eloquent, “on nobles and priests, they 
looked down with contempt: forthey esteemed themselves rich 
in a more precious treasure, and e@Mquent in a more sublime lan- 
guage; nobles by the right of ar earlier creation, and priests Ly 
the imposition of a mightier hand. ‘The very meanest of them 
was a being, to whose fate a mysterious and terrible importance 
belonged ; on whose slightest action the spirits of light and dark- 
ness looked with anxious interest; who iad been destined, before 
heaven and earth were creat njoy a felicity which should 
continue when heaven and ear yuld have passed away. 

Events, which. yshort-sighted politicians ascribed to earthly 
causes rad bec on 0 rained on his aceon For his sake, em- 
| h ed. For his'sake, the 

e pen of the s evangelist 

D1 He had been | rescued, by no 

common ‘ificoree from th é grasp of no common foe. He had 
been ransomed, by the sweat of no vulgar glory, by the blood 
of no earthly sacrifice. It was for him, that the sun had teen 
darkened, that the rocks had been rent, that the dead had ari:en, 
that all nature had shuddered at the sufferings of her expiring 


. God! 


Thus, the Puritan was made up of two different mén,—the 
one,-all self-abasement, penitence, gratitude, passion; the other, 
proud, calm, inflexible, sagacious. He prostrated himself in the 
dust before his Maker; but he set his foot on the neck of his 


OF THE ECLECTIC ‘SE DRIES. ‘ ure ao 


king. In his devotional retirement, he prayed with convulsions, 


and groans, and tears. He was half maddened by glorious or 
terrible illusions. He heard the lyres of angels, or the tempt- 
ing whispers of fiends. He caught a gleam of the beatific vision, 
or waked screaming, from dreams of everlasting fire. But when 
he took his seat in the council, or girt on his sword for war, these 
tempestuous workings of the soul had left no perceptible trace 


behind them. People who saw nothing of the Puritans but 


their uncouth visages, and heard nothing from them but their 
groans and hymns, might laugh at them. - But those had little 
reason to laugh, who encountered them in the hall of debate or 
in the field of battle. feos 

The Puritans brought to civil, and military affairs a coolness 
of judgment and an immutability of purpose, which some wri- 
ters have thought inconsistent with their religious zeal, but which 
were, in fact, the necessary. effects of it. The intensity of their 


feelings on one subject, had made them tranquil on every other. 


One overpowering sentiment had subjected to itself, pity, hatred, 
ambition, and fear. Death had lost its terrors; and pleasure, its 
charms. ‘They had their smiles and their tears, their raptures 
and their sorrows, but not for the things of this world. Enthu- 
siasm had made them stoics, had cleared their minds from every 
vulgar passion and prejudice, a and raised them above the influence 
of danger and of corruption. It sometimes might lead them to 
pursue unwise ends, but never to choose unwise means. ‘They 
went through the world, crushing and trampling down oppression ; 
mingling with human beings, but having neither part nor lot in 
human infirmities ; insensible to fatigue, to pleasure, and to pain; 
not to be pierced by au * apd ‘not to be withstood by any 
barrier. 

Such, we believe, to have been the character of the Puritans. 
We perceive the absurdity of their manners; we dislike the 
gloom of their domestic habits ; we acknowledge that the tone 
of their minds was often inj red, by straining - ‘after things too 
high for mortal reach 3 and we know, that, in spite of their hatred 
of popery, they too ten fell into the vices of that bad system, 
intolerance and extravagant austerity. Yet, when all circum- 
stances are taken into consideration, we do not hesitate to pro- 
nounce them a brave, a wise, an honest, and a useful body. 

“a EXpinpuren Review. 


SIO ged 


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LESSON CXXXIV. 


THE MEMORY OF OUR FATHERS. 


We are called upon to cherish with high veneration and grate- 
ful recollections, the memory of our fathers. Both the ties of 
nature and the dictates of policy, demand this. And surely, no 
nation had ever less occasion to be ashamed of its ancestry, or 
more occasion for gratulation in that respect; for, while most 
nations trace their origin to barbarians, the foundations of our 
nation were laid by civilized men—by christians. Many of 
them were men of distinguished families, of powerful talents, of 
great learning and of pre-eminent wisdom, of decision of charac- 
ter and of most inflexible integrity. And yet not unfrequently, 
they have been treated as if they had no virtues; while their 
sins and follies, have been aber immortalized in satirical 
anecdote. 

‘The influence of such treatment of our fathers is too mani- 
fest. It creates, and lets loose upon their institutions, the van- 
dal spirit of innovation and overthrow ; for after the memory of 
our fathers shall have been rendered contemptible, who will ap- 
preciate and sustain their institutions? Zhe memory pratt 
thers, should be the watchword of liberty throughout the land: 
for, imperfect as they were, the world before had not seen their 
like, nor willit soon, we fear, behold their like again. ~ Such 


_ models of moral excellence, such apostles of civil and religious 


liberty, such shades f the illustrious dead, looking down upon 
their descendants witn approbation or reproof, according as they 
follow or depart from the good way, constitute a censorship in- 
ferior only to the eye of God; ar d to ridicule them, is national 
suicide. 

‘The doctrines of our fathers have been represented as gloomy, 
superstitious, severe, irrational, and of a licentious tendency. 
But when other systems shall have produced a piety as devoted, 
a morality as pure, a patriotism as disinterested, and a state of 
society as happy, as have prevailed where their doctrines have 
been most prevalent, it may be in season to seek an answer to 
this objection. 

The persecutions instituted by our fathers, have been the oc- 
casion of ceaseless obloquy upon dheir fair fame. And truly, it 
was a fault of no ordinary magnitude, that sometimes they did 
persecute. But let him whose ancestors were not ten times 
more guilty, cast the first stone, and the ashes of our fathers 
will no more be disturbed. ‘Theirs was the fault of the age, 
and it will be easy to show, that no class of men had, at that 
time, approximated so nearly to just apprehensions of religious 


4 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES, 293 
+ 
liberty; and that it is to them that the world is now indebted, 
for the more just and definite views which now prevail. 

The superstition and bigotry of our fathers, are themes on 
which some of their descendants, themselves fer enough from 
superstition, if not from bigotry, have delighted to dwell. But 
when we look abroad, and behold the condition of the world, 
compared with the condition of New England, we may justly 
exclaim, ‘“* Would to God that the ancestors of all the nations, 
had been not only almost, but altogether such bigots as our 
fathers were.’’—Dr. BeEcHer. 


LESSON CXXXV. 


THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS 


Tue breaking waves dashed high 
On a stern and rock-bound coast, 
And the woods against a stormy sky, 
Their giant branches tossed ; 


And the heavy night hung dark 
The hills and waters o’er, 

When a band of exiles moored their bark 
On the wild New England shore. 


Not as the conqueror comes, 
They, the true-hearted, came’, 

Not with the roll of the stirring drums, 
And the trumpet that sings of fame’. 


Not as the flying come, 
In silence, and in fear’ ; 
They shook the depths of the desert’s gloom - 
With their hymns of lofty cheer. ~ 


Amidst the storm they sang, 
And the stars heard, and the sea; 

And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang 
To the anthem of the free. 


The ocean eagle soared 
From his nest by the white wave’s foam, 
And the rocking pines of thé forest roared 5 
This was their welcome home. 


There were men with hoary hair, 
Amid that pilgrim band, 

Why had they come to wither there, 
Away from their childhood’s land? 


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There was woman’s fearless eye, 
Lit by her deep love’s truth; 

There was manhood’s brow, serenely Rakes 
And the fiery heart of youth. 


What sought they thus afar‘? 
Bright jewels of ithe mine’? 

The wealth of seas’, the spoils of war’? 
They sought a faith’s pure shrine! 


Aye, call it holy ground, 
The soil where first they trod! 


They have left unstained what there they found—_ 


Freedom to worship God !—~Hermans. 


LESSON CXXXVI. 


SONG OF EMIGRATION. id 


THERE was heard a song on the chiming sea,’ 
A mingled breathing of grief and glee ; 
Man’s voice unbroken by sighs was there, 
Filling with.triumph the sunny air; 
Of fresh, green lands, and of pastures new, 
It sang, while the bark through the surges flew. 
But ever and anon 
A murmur of farewell, 
Told by its plaintive tone, 
That from woman’s lip it fell. 


‘Away, away o’er the foaming mainl”’ 
This was the free and joyous strain— 
‘*'There are clearer skies than ours afar, 
We will shape our course by a brighter star; 
There are plains whose verdure no foot hath pressed, 
And whose wealth is all for the first-brave guest.” 
‘But alas! that we should go,” 
Sang the farewell voices then, 
‘From the homesteads warm and low, 
By the brook and in the glen!” 


‘‘ We will rear new homes, under trees that glow 
As if gems were the fruitage of every bough ; 
O’er our white walls we will train the-vine, 
And sit in its shadow at day’s decline; 
And watch our herds as they range at will 
Through the green savannahs, all bright and still.” : 
« But woe for that sweet shade 
Of the flowering orchard-trees, 
Where first our children played 
*Midst birds and honey-bees !” 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 295 


“ATI all our own shall the forests Be, 
As to the bound of the roe-buck free! 
None shall say, ‘Hither, no farther pass 
We will track each step through the wavy grass; 
We will chase the elk in his speed and might, 
And bring proud spoils to the hearth at night.” 
** But oh! the gray church-tower, 
And the sound of the Sabbath-bell, 
And the sheltered garden-bower, 
We have bid them ali farewell !”’ 


“ We will give the names of our fearless race 

To each bright river whose course we trace; ~ 

We will leave our memory with mounts and floods, 

And the path of our daring, in boundless woods ; , 

And our works on many a lake’s green shore, we 

Where the indians’ graves lay alone, before.” 

‘¢ But who shall teach the flowers 
Which our children loved, to dwell ual 
In a soil that is not ours? 

—Home, home and friends, farewell !’’—Hemans. 


LESSON CXXXVII. 
POETRY OF THE BIBLE. 


One of the most eminent critics has said, that “ devotional 
poetry cannot please.” If it be so, then has the Bible carried 
the dominion of poetry into regions that are inaccessible to 
worldly ambition. -It has erossed the enchanted circle, and, by 
the beauty, boldness, and originality of its conceptions, has given 
to devotional poetry a glow, a richness, a tenderness, in vain 
sought for in Shakspeare or Cowper, in Scott or in Byron. 

Where is there poetry that can be compared with the song of 
Moses, after the destruction of Pharaoh; with the psalms of 
David; with the song of Solomon; and with the prophecies of _ 
Isaiah? Where is there an elegiac ode to be compared with the 
song of David, upon the death of Saul and Jonathan, or the la- 
mentations of Jeremiah? Where, in ancient or modern poetry, 
is there a passage like this? “In thoughts from the visions of 
the night, when deep sleep falleth on man, fear came upon me, 
and trembling, which made all my bones to shake. Then a 
spirit passed before my face: the hair of my flesh stood up. It 
stood still, but | could not discern the. form thereof. An image 
was before mine eyes. ‘There was silence. And I heard a voice, 
saying, ‘Shall mortal man be more just than God? shall a man 
be more pure than his Maker? Behold he putteth no trust in 


296 M'GUFFEY’S RIIETORICAL GUIDE 


his servants, and his angels he chargeth with folly. How much 
less in them that dwell in houses of clay, whose foundation is as 
the dust, and who are crushed before the moth!” 

Men, who have felt the power of poetry, when they have 
marked the «‘ deep-working passion of Danté,’”? and observed the 
elevation of Milton, as he “combined i image with unage, in lofiy 
gradations,” have thought that they discovered the indebiedness 
of these writers to the poetry of the Old Testament. But how 
much more sublime is Isaiah than Milten! .How much more 
enkindling than Danté, is David! How much more picturesque 
than Homer, is Solomon or Job! Like the rapid and glowing 
argumentations of Paul, the poetic parts of the Bible may be 
read a thousand times, and they have all the freshness and glow 
of the first perusal. 
__ Where, in the compass of human language, is there a para- 
graph, which, for boldness and variety of metaphor, delicacy and 
majesty of thought, strength and invention, elegance and refine- _ 
ment, equals the passage in which “ God answers Job out of the 
whirlwind??? What merely human imagination, in the natural 
progress of a single discourse, and, apparently, without effort, 
ever thus went down to « the foundations of the earth ;”’ stood 

at ** the doors of the ocean ;”’ visited “the place where the day- 
spring from on high takes hold of the uttermost parts of the 
earth ;”’ entered-into ‘‘ the treasures of the snow and the hail ;” 
traced “the path of the thunderbolt ;’? and, penetrating the re- 
tired chambers of nature, demanded, ** Hath the rain a father? 
or, who hath begotten the drops of the dew?’ And how bold 
its flights, how inexpressibly striking and beautiful its antithesis, 
when, from the warm and sweet Pleiades, it wanders to the 
sterner Orion; and, in its rapid course, hears the “ young lions 
crying unto God, for lack of meat;”’ sees the war-horse pawing 
in the valley; descries the eagle on the crag of the rock ; and, in 
all that is vast and minute, dreadful and heautibal, discovers and 
proclaims the glory of Him, who is “excellent in counsel, and 
wonderful in working ?”’ 

The style of Hebrew poetry is every where forcible and figu- 
rative, beyond example. ‘The book of Job stands not alone in 
‘his sententious, spirited, and energetic form and manner. It 
_ revails throughout the poetic part of the Scriptures; and they 
stand, confessedly, the most eminent eae ples to be found, of . 
the truly sublime and beautiful. I confess, I have not i a of 
the spirit of poetry. It is a fire that is enkindled at the living 
lamp of nature, and glows only on a few favored altars. And 
yet, 1 cannot but love the poetic associations of the Bible. Now, 
they are sublime and beautiful, like the mountain torrent, swollen 
and impetuous, by the sudden bursting of the cloud; now, they 


ay 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 297 


are grand and awful, like the stormy Galilee, when the tempest 
beat “upon the fearful disci ile es3 ape they are placid as that 
calm lake, when the Savior’s feet have touched iis waters, and 
stilled them into peace. 

There is, also, a sublimity, an inven ve in the imagery of 
fhe Bible, that is found in no other book. In the Bible, you 
have allegory, apologue, | parable, and enigma, all clearly intelli- 
gible, ea enforcing truth are 5 strong and indelible 1 impression, 
You have significant actions, uttering volumes of instruction; as 
when “ Jesus called a little child, and set him in the midst of his 
disciples, and.said, Except ye be converted, and become as little 
children, ye shail not enter into the kingdom of heaven;”’ as 


_ when he cursed the barren fig-tree; as when he ‘* washed. his 


disciples’ feet.”” And where is there a comparison like this? 
‘And the heavens Perera as a scroll, when it is rolled togeth- 
er.’ Where is there-a description like this? «And I saw an 
_angel standing in the sun, and he cried with a loud voice, saying 
to all the fowls that fly in the midst of heaven, Come, and gather 
yourselves together unto the supper of the great God.’ Or, 
where is there a sentence like the following? “And I saw a. 
great white throne, and him that sat on it, from whose face the 
earth and the heavens fled away, and there was found no place 
for them.” 

English literature is no common debtor to the Bible. In what 
department of English literature,may not the difference be dis- 
covered between the spirit and sentiments of christian writers, 
and those who have drawn all their materials of thought and of 
ornament, from pagan writers? We find a proof of the supe- 
riority of christian principles, even in those works of imagina- 
tion, which are deemed scarcely susceptible of influence from 
religion. ‘The common. romance and the novel, with all their 
fooleries and ravings, would be more contemptible than they 
are, did they not, sometimes, undesignedly, catch a conception, 
or adorn a character from the rich treasury of revelation. And 
the more splendid fictions of the poet, derive their highest charm 
from the evangelical philanthropy, tenderness, and sublimity that 
invest them. But for the Bible, Homer and Milton might have 
stood upon the same shelf, equal in morality, as they are com- 
petitors for renown; Young had been ranked with Juvenal; 
and Cowper had united with Horace and with Ovid, to swell 
the tide of voluptuousness.—Dr. Sprine. 


298 M'GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


LESSON CXXXVIII. 


SONG OF MOSES AFTER THE PASSAGE OF THE 
’ RED. SBeAs 


I wii sing unto the Lord, for he hath triumphed gloriously ; 
The horse and his rider hath he whelmed in the sea. 
My praise and my song is Jehovah, 
And he is become my salvation: 
He is my God, and I will praise him; 
My father’s God, and I will exalt him. 


Jehovah is a man of war: Jehovah is his name. 
‘The chariots of Pharaoh and his hosts hath he cast into the sea, 
And his choicest leaders into the Red sea. i 
The floods have covered them; they went down; — 
Into the abyss they went down as a stone. 
Thy right hand, O Jehovah, hath made itself glorious in power: 
Thy right hand, O Jehovah, hath dashed in pieces the enemy ; 
And in the strength of thy majesty, thou hast destroyed thine adver- 
saries. 
. Thou didst let loose thy wrath: it consumed them like stubble. 


With the blast of thy nostrils the waters were heaped together: 
'The flowing waters stood upright as a heap: 
The floods were congealed in the heart of the sea. 
The enemy said, I will pursue, I will overtake; 
I will divide the spoil; my soul shall be satisfied : 
I will draw my sword, my hand shall destroy them.” 
Thou didst blow with thy breath, the sea covered them: 
They sank as lead in the mighty waters. 


Who is like unto thee among the gods, O Jehovah! 
Who is like unto thee, making thyself gloricus in holiness, 
Fearful in praises, executing wonders ! 
Thou didst stretch out thy right hand,—the earth swallowed them. 
Thou hast led forth,in thy mercy, the people whom thou hast redeemed; 
‘Thou hast guided them in thy strength to the habitation of thy holiness. 
The people shall hear, and be disquieted : 
_ Terror shall seize the inhabitants of Philistia. 

Then,the nobles of Edom shall be confounded: 
The mighty ones of Moab, trembling shall take hold upon them: 
All the inhabitants of Canaan shall melt away: 
‘Terror and perplexity shall fall upon them: 
Because of the greatness of thine arm, they shall be still as a stone, 
Till thy people pass over, O Jehovah, 
Till the people pass over whom thou hast redeemed.’ 
Thou shalt bring them in, and plant them in the mountains of thine 

inheritance, 

The place for thy dwelling which thou hast prepared, O Jehovah! 
‘The sanctuary, O Lord, which thy hands have established. 
Jehovah shall reign forever and ever!—l5ru cHap. or Exopus. 


a ae Ee 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 299 


LESSON CXXXIX. 
THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER 


In a remote period of antiquity, when the supernatural and 
the marvelous obtained a readier credence than now, it was 
fabled, that a stranger of extraordinary appearance was observed 
passing the streets of one of the magnificent cities of the east, 
remarking, with an eye of intelligent curiosity, every surround- 
ing object. Several individuals gathering around- him, ques- 
tioned him concerning his country and his business; but they 
presently perceived that he was unacquainted with their lan- 
guage, and he soon discovered himself to be equally ignorant 
of the most common usages of society. At the same time, the 
dignity and intelligence of his air and demeanor, forbade the 
idea of his being either a barbarian or a lunatic. 

When, at length, he understood by their signs, that they 
wished to be fifovisied whence he came, he pointed with great 
significance to the sky ; upon which, the crowd, concluding him 
to be one of their deities, were proceeding to pay him divine 
honors ; but he no sooner comprehended their design, than he 
rejected it with horror; and, bending his knees and raising his 
hands toward heaven, in the attitude of prayer, gave them to un- 
derstand that he also was a worshiper of ‘the powers above. 
After a time, it is said, the mysterious stranger accepted the hos- 
pitalities of one of the nobles of the city ; under whose roof he 
applied himself with great diligence to the acquirement of the 
language, in which he made such surprising proficiency, that, 
in a few days, he was able to hold intelligent intercourse with 
those around him. 

‘The noble host now resolved to take an early opportunity of 
satisfying his curiosity respecting the country and quality of 
his guest; and, upon his expressing his desire, the stranger as- 
sured him, that he would answer his inquiries that evening, after 
sunset. Accordingly, as night approached, he led him forth upon | 
the balconies of the palace, which overlooked the wealthy and* 
populous city. Innumerable lights from its busy streets and 
splendid palaces, were now reflected in the dark bosom of its 
noble river ; where stately vessels, laden with rich merchandise 
from all parts of the known world, lay anchored in the port. 
This was a city in which the voice of the harp-and the viol, and. 
the sound of the mill-stone, were continually heard ; and crafts- 
men of all kinds of craft were there ; and the light of a candle 
was seen in every dwelling; and the voice of the bridegroom 
and the voice of the bride were heard there. 

The stranger mused awhile upon the glittering scene ; and 


a 


300 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


listened to the confused murmur of mingling sounds. Then, 
suddenly raising his eyes to the starry firmament, he fixed them 
with an expressive gaze, on the beautiful evening star, which 
was just sinking behind a dark grove, that surrounded one of 
the principal temples of the city. * Marvel not,”’ said he to his 
host, that I am wont to gaze with fond affection on yon silvery 
star. That was my home; yes, I was lately an ‘~*abitant of © 
that tranquil planet; from whence a vain curiosity nas «au, ied 
me to wander. 

Often had I beheld, with wondering admiration, this brilliant 
world of yours, even one of the brightest gems of our firma- 
ment, and the ardent desire I had long felt to know something 
of its condition, was at length unexpectedly gratified. I received 
permission and power from above to traverse the mighty void, 
and to direct my course to this distant sphere.» To that. per- 
mission, however, one condition was annexed, to which my ea- 
gerness for the enterprise induced me hastily to consent— 
namely, that I must thenceforth remain an inhabitant of this 
strange earth, and undergo all the vicissitudes to which its na- 
tives are subject. ‘Tell me, therefore, I pray you, what is the 
lot of man; and explain to me more fully than I yet understand, 
all that I see and hear around me.”’ . 

“Truly, sir,”’ replied the astonished noble, “although I am 
altogether unacquainted with the manners and customs, produets 
and privileges of your country, vet, methinks, I cannot but con- 
gratulate you on your arrival in our world; especially since it 
has been your good fortune to alight on a part of it, affording 
such various sources of enjoyment, as this our opulent and lux- 
uriant city. And be assured it will be my pride and pleasure, 
to introduce you to all that is most worthy the attention of such 

a distinguished foreigner.” | 

Our adventurer, accordingly, was presently initiated into those 
arts of luxury and pleasure, which were there well understood. 
He was introduced by his obliging friend to their public games 
and festivals ; to their theatrical diversions and convivial assem- 

~Uhes ; and, in a short time, he began to feel some relish for amuse- 
ments, the meaning of which, at first, he could scarcely compre- 
hend. ‘The next lesson which it became desirable to impart to 
him, was the necessity of acquiring wealth, as the only means 
of obtaining pleasure. ‘This fact was no sooner understood by 
the stranger, than he gratefully accepted the offer of his friendly 
host, to place him in a situation in which he might amass riches. 
To this object he began to apply himself with diligence ; and 
soon became, in some measure, reconciled to the manners and 
customs of our planet, strangely as they differed from those of 
his own.—JAnE Taytor. 


x 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 301 


LESSON CXL. 


THE SAME.—CONCLUDED. " 


He had been but a few weeks diligently engaged in his new 
plans for the acquisition of wealth, when, walking in the cool 
of the day with his friend, in the outskirts of. the. city, his at- 
tention was arrested by the appearance of a spacious enclosur» 
near which they passed. He inquired the use to which it wa 
appropriated. ‘It is,’ replied the nobleman, “a place of public 
interment.” ‘+I do not understand you,” said the stranger. “It 
is the place,’’ repeated his friend, ‘* where we bury our dead.” 
“‘[{xcuse me, sir,’ replied his companion, with some embar- 
rassment, ‘I must trouble you to explain yourself yet further.” 

The nobleman repeated the information in still plainer terms. 
“I am still at a loss to comprehend you perfectly,” said the 
stranger, turning deadly pale. ‘‘'This must relate to something 
of which I was not only totally ignorant in my own world, but 
of which I have, as yet, had no intimation in yours. I pray 
you, therefore, to satisfy my c-iriosity; for if I have any clewto 
your meaning, this, surely, is a matter of more mighty concern- 
ment, than any to which you have hitherto directed me.” 

“My good friend,”’ replied the nobleman, ‘* you must indeed 
be a novice among us, if you have yet to learn that we must all, 
sooner or later, submit to take our place in these dismal abodes. 
Nor will I deny, that it is one of the least desirable of the circum- 
stances which appertain to our condition ; for which reason it is a 
matter rarely referred to in polished ‘cpak ; and this accounts 
for your being hitherto uninformed on the subject. But truly, sir, 
if the inhabitants of the place from whence you came are not 
liable to any similar misfortune, I advise you to betake yourself 

‘back again with all speed; for be assured there is no escape, - 
here, nor could I guaranty your safety even for a single hour.’”. 

‘Alas !”’ replied the adventurer, ‘I must submit. to ‘the condi- 
tions of my enterp. ise, of which, till now, I little understood the 
import. But explain (vs me, I beseech you, something more of 
the nature and consequence of this wondro us cha nge, and tell me 
at what period it commonly happens to man.’ While he thus 
spoke, his voice faltered, and his whole frame shook violently ; 
his countenance was as pale as death. By this time his com- 
panion, finding the discourse becoming more serious than was 
agreeable, declared he must refer him to the priests for further 
information, this subject being very much out of his province. 
‘How!’ exclaimed the stranger, “then I cannot have under- 
stood you. Do the priests only die? are you not to die also?” 
His friend, evading these questions, hastily conducted his im- 


302, . «s M’GUFFBY'S RHETORICAL GUIDE 
es 

portunate companion to one of their magnificent temples, where 
_ he gladly consigned him to the instructions of the priesthood. 
| The emotion, which the stranger had. betrayed when he 
received the first idea of death, was yet slight in comparison with 
| that-which he experienced as soon as he gathered, from the dis- 
courses of the priests, some notions of immortality, and of the 

alternative of happiness or misery in a future state. But this 
agony of mind was exchanged for transport, when he learned 


3 i aoe ‘ 

that, by the performance of certain conditions before death, the 
state of happiness might be secured. His eagerness to learn the 
. nature of these terms, excited the surprise and even the contempt 
! pens : up ; rhe, Sete 

| of his sacred teachers. ‘They advised him to remain satisfied 


for the present with the instructions he had received, and defer 

the remainder of the discussion till to-morrow.  “ How!” ex- 

: claimed the novice, “say ye not that death may come at any 
hour? may it not come: this hour? and what if it should come, 
before I have performed these conditions? O! withhold: not ~ 
the excellent knowledge from me,a single moment!” io nN 

The priests, suppressing a smile at his simplicity, proc¢eed- 
ed to explain their theology to their attentive auditor. But 
who can describe the ecstasy of his happiness, when he was 
given to understand the required conditions were, generally, of 
easy and pleasant-performance, and the occasional difficulties, 

_which might attend them, would entirely cease with the short 
term of -his earthly existence. ‘If, then, I understand you 
rightly,”’ said he to his instructors, “this event which-you call 
death, and which seems in itself strangely terrible, is most desi- 
rable and blissful. What a favor is this which is granted tome, 
in being sent to inhabit a planet in which I can die !” dan 

The priests again exchanged smiles with each other; but 
their ridicule was wholly lost on the enraptured stranger, 
When the first transports of his emotion had subsided, he began 
10 reflect with more uneasiness on the time he had already lost 
since his arrival. “Alas! what have I been coing?”’ exclaimed 
he. ‘This gold which I have been collecting, tell me, reverend 
priests, will it avail me anything when the thirty or forty years 
are expired, which you say I may possibly sojourn in your plan- 
et?’ « Nay,”’ replied the priests, “but verily you will find it of 
excellent use so long as you remain in it.’ “A very little of it 
will sufice me,”’ replied he; “ for consider how soon this period — 
will be past. What avails it what my condition may be foro — 
short a season? Iwill betake myself from this hour,.to the 
grand concerns of which you have so charitably informed me.”” 

Accordingly, from that period, continues the legend, the stran- 
ger devoted himself to the performance of those conditions on 
which, he was told, his future welfare depended; but, in so do- 


God 


of 7 


aps, © 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES.» , 303 
Px 

ing, he had an opposition to encounter wholly unexpected, and 
for which he was at a loss even to account.» By, thus devoting 
his chief attention to his chief interests, he excited the surprise, 
the contempt, and even the enmity of most of the inhabitants of 
the city; and they rarely mentioned him but with a term of re- 
proach, which has been variously rendered in all the modern 
languages. 

Nothing could equal the stranger’ S surprise at this circum: 
stance ; as well as that of his fellow-citizens’ appearing, generally, 
so extremely indifferent as they did, to their own interests. 
That they should have so little prudence and forethought, as to 
provide only for their necessities and pleasures, for that short 
part of their existence in which they were to remain on this 
planet, he could but consider as-the effect of disordered intellect ; 
so that he even returned their incivilities to himself with affec- 
tionate expostulation, accompanied by lively emotions of compas- 
sion and amazement. 

If-ever_ he “was tempted for a moment to violate any of the 
conditions: ‘of his future happiness, he bewailed his own madness 
with agonizing emotions ; and to all the invitations he received 
from others to do anything inconsistent with his real interests, 
he had but one answer—* Oh,’ he would say, “1 am to die—I 


* “am to die. ”——JANE 'TAyLor. 


ae 


ies - _% ©LESSON OXLI. 


te CRATER OF KIRAUEA. 


~ Axsout two o’clock in the afternoon, the crater of Kirauea 


suddenly burst upon our view. We expected to have seen a 
mountain with a broad base, and rough, indented sides, and 
whose summits would have presented a rugged wall of scoria, 
forming the rim of a mighty caldron. But, instead of this, we 
found ourselves on the edge of a steep precipice, with a vast 
plain before us, fifteen or sixteen miles in circumference, and 
sunk from two. hundred to four hundred feet below its oriyinal 


level. «The surface of this plain was uneven, and strewed over 


~ with large stones and volcanic rocks, and, in the’ center of it, 


order to find a place by which we mi 
below ; and we soon discovered a point, from which—the preci- 


was the great erater, at the distance of a mile and a half from the 

precipice on which we were standing. 
Our guides led us round toward the north end of the ridge, in 
ght descend to the plain 


pice being less steep—a descent seemed practicable. It required, 


balls 


304 Mw GUPFEY S RE ETORICAL GUIDE 


however, the greatest caution, as the stones and fragments of 
rock frequently gave way under our feet, and rolled down from 
above; but, with all our care, we did not reach the botiom, with- 
out several falls and slight bruises. 

The steep, which we had descended, was formed of volcanic 
matter, apparently a light red and gray kind of lava, lying in 
horizontal strata, varying in thickness from one to forty feet. In 
a small number of places, the different strata of lava were also 
rentin perpendicular or oblique directions, from the top to the 
bottom, either by earthquakes, or other violent convulsions of 
the ground, connected with the action of the adjacent-volcano. 
After walking some distance over the sunken plaim, which, in 
several places, sounded hollow under our feet, we, at length, 
came to the edge of the great crater, where a Neate sublime, 
and even appalling, presented itself before us 


“We stopped and trembled.’’ 


Astonishment and awe, for some moments, rendered us mute; 
and, like statues, we stood fixed to the spot, with our eyes riveted 
on the thea below. Immediately before us,yawned an immense 
gulf, in the form of a crescent, about two miles in length, from 
north-east to south-west, nearly a mile in width, and, apparently, 
eight hundred feet deep. The bottom was covered with lava, 
and the south-west and northern parts of it were one vast flood 
of burning matter, in a state of terrific ebullition, rolling to and 
fro its “fiery surge,’’ and flaming billows. Fifty-one conical 
islands, of varied form and size, containing as many craters, rose 
either round the edge, or from the surface of the burning lake. 
‘Twenty-two constantly emitted columns of gray smoke or pyra- 
mids of brilliant fame; and several of these, at the same time, 
vomited from their ignited mouths, streams of lava, which rolled 
in blazing torrents down their black, indented sides, into the 
boiling mass below. ‘ 

The existence of these conical craters led us to conclude, that 
the boiling caldren of lava before us did not form the focus of the 
voleano ; that this mass of melted lava was comparatively shal- 
low;and that the basin in which it was contained, was separated, 
by a stratum of solid matter, from the great voleanic abyss, which 
con a ed bpured out its melted contents, through these numer- 


ous craters, into this reservoir. We were further inclined to hide 


opinion, eon the vast columns of vapor continually ascending 
from the chasms in the vicinity of the sulphur banks and pools 
of water; for they must have been produced by other fire, than 


that which caused the ebullition in the lava at the bottom of the 


great crater; and, also, by noticing a great number of small cra- 


. = ters in vigorous action, situated high up the sides of the great 


wetter res 


~+* 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES): 305 


gulf, and, apparently, quite detached from it. ‘The streams of 
lava which they emitted, rolled down into the lake and mingled. 
with the melted mass, which, though thrown up by different 
apertures, had, perhaps, been originally fused in one vast fur- 
nace. | 

The sides of the gulf before us, although composed of different 
strata of ancient lava, were perpendicular, for about four hundred 
feet, and rose from a wide, horizontal ledge of solid, black lava, 
of irregular breadth, but extended completely round. Beneath 
this ledge, the sides sloped gradually towards the burning lake, 
which was, as nearly as. we could judge, three or four hundred 
feet lower. It was evident, that the large crater had been re- 
cently filled with liquid lava, up to this black ledge, and had, by 
some subterranean canal, emptied itself into the sea, or upon the 
low land, on the shore. 

The gray, and, in some places, apparently calcined sides of 
the great crater before us; the fissures, which intersected the 
surface of the plain, on which we were standing; the long banks 
of sulphur on the apposite sides of the abyss; the vigorous ac- 
tion of the numerous small craters on its borders; the dense col- 
umns of vapor and smoke, that rose at the north and south end 
of the plain, together with the ridge of steep rocks, by which it 
was surrounded, rising, probably, in some places, three or four 
hundred feet, in perpendicular height, presented an immense, vol- 
eanic panorama, the effect of which was greatly augmented, by 
the constant roaring of the vast furnaces below. 

After the first feelings of astonishment had subsided, we re- 
mained a considerable time contemplating this scene, which it is 
impossible to describe, and which filled us with wonder and ad- 
miration, at the almost overwhelming manifestation it affords of 
the power of that dread Being, who created the world, and who 

“has declared, that by fire he will one day destroy it. We then 
walked along, the west side of the crater, and, in half an hour, 
reached the north end.—E 111s. 


LESSON CXIIl. 


fe APOSTROPHE TO NIAGAR & 


- F Low on forever, in thy glorious robe 
Of: terror and of beauty. God hath set : 
His rainbow on thy forehead, and the clouds 
Mantled around thy feet. And He doth give 
Thy voice of thunder power to speak of Him 
x Kternally ;—bidding the lip of man 
26 


306 


& 


M'GU FFEYS RHETORICAL GUIDE 


Keep silence, and upon thy rocky altar, pour 
Incense of awe-struck praise. 


And who can dare 
To lift the.insect tramp of earthly hope, 
Or love, or sorrow, ’mid the peal sublime 
Of thy tremendous hymn! Even ocean shrinks 
Back from thy brotherhood, and his wild waves 
Retire abashed ; for he doth sometimes seem 
To sleep like a spent laborer, and recall 
His wearied billows from their vexmg play, 
And lull them to a cradle calm: but thou; 
With everlasting, undecaying tide, 
Dost rest not night nor day. . 


The morning stars, 

When first they sang o’er young creation’s birth, 
Heard thy deep anthem; and those wrecking fires 
That wait the archangel’s signal, to dissolve 
The solid earth, shall find Jehovah’s name 
Graven, as with a thousand diamond spears, 
On thine unfathomed page. Hach leafy bough, 
That lifts itself within thy proud domain, 
Doth gather greenness from thy living spray, 


‘And tremble at the baptism. Lo! yon birds 


Do venture boldly near, bathing their wings 
Amid thy foam and mist. ’Tis meet for them 
To touch thy garments here, or lightly stir 
The snowy leaflets of thy vapor-wreath, — 
Who sport unharmed on the fleecy cloud, 
And listen at the echoing gate of heaven, 
Without reproof. But as for us, it seems 
Scarce lawful with our broken tones to speak 
Familiarly of thee. Methinks, to tint 

Thy glorious features with our pencil’s point, 
Or woo thee with the tablet of a song, 

Were profanation. 


Thou dost make the soul 
A wondering witness of thy majesty, 


~ And while it rushes with delirious joy 


To tread thy vestibule, dost chain its step, 
And check its rapture, with the humbling view 
Of its cwn nothingness, bidding it stand 

In the d ead presence of the invisible, 


As if to mswer to its God through thee.—Mrs. Sicourner. 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 307 


LESSON CXULII 
GOD,THE AUTHOR OF ALL THINGS 


Tuovu uncreate, unseen, and undefined, 

Source of all life, and fountain of the mind; 
Pervading Spirit, whom no eye can trace, 

Felt through all time, and working in all space 
Imagination cannot paint that spot, 

Around, above, beneath, where thou art not. 


Before the giad stars hymned to new-born earth. 
Or young creation reveled in its birth, 

Thy spirit moved upon the pregnant deep, 
Unchained the waveless waters from their sleep, 
Bade 'Time’s majestic wings to be unfurled, 

And out of darkness drew the breathing world! 


Primeval Power! before thy thunder rang, 
iene nature from Eternity out-sprang, a 
Ere matter formed at thy creative tone, | 
Thou wert; almighty, endless,and alone; 

In thine own essence, all that was to be— 
Sublime, unfathomable Deity ; 

Thou said’st—and lo! a universe was born, 

And light flashed from thee for his birth-day morn 


The Earth unshrouded all her beauty now ; 

The mountain monarch bared his awful brow; 
Flowers, fruits, and trees felt instantaneous life. 
But hark! Creation trembles with the strife 

Of roaring waves in wild commotion hurled.— 
*T is Ocean, winding round the rocky world ! 


And next, triumphant o’er the green-clad earth, 

The cnteeitl Sun burst into birth, 

And dashed from off his altitude sublime 

The first dread ray, that marked commencing Time! 
Last, came the Moon upon the wings of light, 

And sat in glory on the throne of Night, 

While fierce and fresh, a radiant host of Stars 
Wheeled round the heavens upon their burning cars 


But all was dismal as a world of dead, 
Till the great deep her living swarms outspread : 
Forth from her teeming bosom, sudden came 
Immingled monsters, mighty, without name ; 
Their plumy tribes winged into being there, 
And fledged their gleaming pinions on the air, 
Till, thick as dews upon a twilight green, 
 Earth’s living creatures rose upon the scene! 


308 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


Creation’s master-piece ! a breath of God, 
Ray of his glory, quickened at his nod, 
Immortal Man came next, divinely grand, 
Glorious and perfect from his Maker’s hand ; 
Last, softly beautiful, as music’s close, 
Angelic woman into being rose. 


And now, the gorgeous universe was rife, 
Full, fair, and glowing with created life; 
And, when the Eternal from his starry height, 
Beheld the young world basking in his light, 
And breathing incense of deep gratitude, 

He blessed it—for his mercy made it good! 


And thus, Thou wert, and art, the Fountain-soul, 

And countless worlds around thee live and roll ; 

In sun and shade, in ocean and in air, 

Diffused, yet undiminished—every where = 

All life and motion from thy source began, 

From worlds to atoms, angels down to man.—Mownreomery. 


aoe tid 


LESSON CXLIV 


THE EAGLE’S NEST. 


Axmosrt all the people in the parish were leading in their mead- 
ow-hay on the same day of: midsummer, so drying was the sun- 
shine. and the wind,—and huge heaped-up wains, that almost 
hid from view the horses that drew them along the sward be- 
ginning to get green with second growth, were moving in all 
directions towards the snug farm- ~yards. ‘Never had the parish 
seemed before so populous. Jocund was the balmy air with 
laughter, whistle, and song. But the -tree-enomons threw the 
shadow of “one o’clock”’ on the green dial-face of the earth; 
the horses were unyoked and took instantly to grazing; groups 
of men, women, lads, lasses, and children, collected under grove, 
and bush, and hedgerow ; graces were pronounced, some of them 
rather too tedious in presence of the mantling milk-cans, bull- 
ion-bars of butter, and erackling cakes ; and the great Being who 
gave them that day their daily bread, looked down from his 
eternal throne, well-pleased with the piety of his thankful ecrea- 
tures. 

‘The great golden eagle, the pride and the pest of the parish, 
stooped down, and flew away with something in its talons. One. 
single, sudden, female shriek arose—and then, shouts.and outeries, 
as if a church spire had tumbled down on a congregation at a 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 309 


sacrament: “ Hannah Lamond’s bairn!* Hannah Lamond’s 
bairn !”” was the loud, fast-spreading cry. ‘The eagle has ta’en 
off Hannah Lamond’s bairn !’’ and many hundred feet were, in 
another instant, hurrying towards the mountain. ‘T'wo miles of 
hill, and dale, and copse, and shingle, and many intersecting 
brooks lay between ; but, in an incredibly short time, the foot of 
the mountain was alive with people. 

The aerie was well known, and both old birds were visible on 
the rock-ledge. But who Shall scale that dizzy cliff, which 
Mark Steuart, the sailor, who had been at the storming of many 
a fort, attempted in vain? All kept gazing, weeping, wringing 
their hands in vain, rooted to the ground, or running back and 
forwards, like so many ants essaying their new wings in discom- 
fiture. “* What’s the use—what’s the use o’ ony puir human 
means? We have no power but in prayer!’ and many knelt 
down—fathers and mothers thinking of their own babies—as if 
they would force the deaf heavens to hear ! 

Hannah Lamond had all this while been sitting on a rock, 
with a face perfectly white, and eyes like those of a mad person, 
fixed on the aerie. Nobody had noticed her ; for strong as all 
sympathies with her had been at the swoop of the eagle, they 
were now swallowed up in the agony of eyesight. “ Only last 
Sabbath was = sweet wee weant baptized in the name o’ the 
Father, and the Son, and the Holy Ghost!’’ and on uttering 
these words, she flew off through the brakes and over the huge 
stones, up—up—up—faster than ever huntsman ran in to the 
death,—fearless as a goat playing among the precipices. 

No one doubted, no one could doubt, that she would soon be: 
dashed to pieces. But have not people who walk in their sleep, 
obedient to the mysterious guidance of dreams, climbed the walls 
of old ruins, and found footing, even in decrepitude, along the 
edge of unguarded battlements, “and down dilapidated stair-cases, 
deep as draw-wells or coal- -pits, and returned with open, fixed, 
and unseeing eyes, unharmed to their beds, at midnight? It is 
all the work of the soul, to whom the body is a slave; and shall. 
not the agony of a mother’s passion—who sees her baby whose 
warm mouth had just left her breast, hurried off by a demon to 
a hideous death, bear her limbs aloft wherever there is dust to 
dust, till she reach that devouring den, and fiercer and more fu- 
rious far, in the passion of love, “than any bird of prey that ever 
bathed its beak in blood, throttle the fiends, that with their heavy 
wings would fain flap her down the cliffs, and hold up her child 
in deliverance before the eye of the all-seeing God ! 

No stop——no stay,—she knew not that she drew her breath, 


. ‘Child. Wee wean, little child. 


~~ a 


- 
310 MGUFFEYS RHETORICAL GUIDE 


Beneath her feet, providence fastened every loose stone, and to 
her hands strengthened every root. How was she ever to de- 
scend? ‘That fear but once crossed her heart, as she went 
up—up—up—to the little image of her own flesh and bloed.” 
“The God who holds me now from perishing—will not the 
same God save me when my child is on my bosom?’’ Down 
eame the fierce rushing of the eagles’ wings—each savage bird 
dashing close to her head, so that she saw the yellow of their 
wrathful eyes. All at once, they quailed and were cowed. Yell- 
ing, they flew off to the stump of an ash jutting out of a cliff, a 
thousand feet above the cataract; and the christian mother falling 
across the aerie, in the midst of bones and blood, clasped her 
child—dead—dead—dead—no doubt—but unmangled and un- 
torn, and swaddled up just as it was when she laid it down 
asleep among the fresh hay, in a nook of the harvest field. 

Oh! whata pang of perfect blessedness transfixed her heart, 
from that faint, feeble cry,—‘ It lives—it lives—it lives !’’ and 
baring her bosom, with loud laughter and eyes dry as stones, 
she felt the lips of the unconscious innocent, once more mur- 
muring at the fount of life and love! ‘O thou great and thou 
dreadful God! whither hast thou brought me—one of the most 
sinful of thy creatures? Oh! save my soul, lest it perish, even 
for thy own name’s sake! Oh thou, who diedst to save sin- 
ners, have mercy upon me !” 

Below, were cliffs, chasms, blocks of stone, and the skeletons 
of old trees—far—far down—and dwindled into specks, and a 
thousand creatures of her own kind, stationary, or running to 
and fro! Was that the sound of the waterfall, or the faint roar 
of voices? [Is that her native strath? and that tuft of trees, does 
it contain the hut, in which stands the cradle of her child? 
Never more shall it be rocked by her foot! Here must she 
die—and, when her breast is exhausted, her baby too! And 
those horrid beaks, and eyes, and talons, and wings, will return, 
and her child will be devoured at last, even within the dead bo- 
som, that can protect it no more.— WILSON. 


LESSON CXLV. 
THE SAME.—CONCLUDED,. } 
Wuenrg, all this while, was Mark Steuart, the sailor? Half 
way up the cliffs. But his eye had got dim, and his heart sick ; 


and he, who had so often reefed the top-gallant sail, when, at 
midnight, the coming of the gale was heard afar, covered his 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 311 


face with his hands, and dared look no longer on the swimming 
heights. ‘And who will take care of my poor,bed-ridden mo- 
ther ?”’ thought Hannah, whose soul, through the exhaustion of 
so many passions, could no more retain in its grasp that hope, 
which it had clutched in despair. A voice whispered “ God.” 
She looked around, expecting to see an angel, but nothing moved, 
except a rotten branch, that, under its own weight, broke off from 
the crumbling rock. Her eye—by some secret sympathy of her 
soul with the inanimate object—watched its fall; and it seemed 
to stop not far off, on a small platform. | 

Her child was bound within her bosom—she remembered not 
how or when,—but it was safe—and, scarcely daring to open 
her eyes, she slid down the shelving rocks, and found herself on 
a small piece of firm, root-bound soil, with the tops of bushes 
appearing below. With fingers. suddenly strengthened into the 
power of iron, she swung herself down, by briar, and broom, 
and heather, and dwarf-birch. There, a loosened stone leaped 
over a ledge, and no sound was heard, so profound was its fall. 
There, the shingle rattled down the screes,* and she hesitated 
not to follow. Her feet bounded against the huge stone that 
stopped them, but she felt no pain. Her body was callous as the 
cliff. Steep, as the upright wall of a house, was now the side 
of the precipice. But it was matted with ivy, centuries old— 
long ago dead, and without a single green leaf, but with ‘thou- 
sands of arm-thick stems, petrified into the rock, and covering 
it, as with a trellis. She bound her baby to her neck, and, with 
hands and feet, clung to that fearful ladder. 
‘Turning round her head and looking down, lo! the whole 
population of the parish—so great was the multitude—on their 
knees! and, hush! the voice of psalms! a hymn, breathing the 
Spirit of one united prayer! Sad and solemn was the strain, 
but nothing dirge-like,—breathing not of death, but deliverance. 
Often had she sung that tune, perhaps the very words, but them 
she heard not—in her own hut, she and her mother; or, in the 
kirk, along with the congregation. An unseen hand seemed fast- 
ening her fingers to the ribs of ivy; and, in sudden inspiration, 
believing that her life was to be saved, she became almost as 
fearless as if she had been changed into a winged creature. 
Again her feet touched stones and earth—the psalm was hushed, 
but a tremulous, sobbing voice was close beside her, and, lo! a 
she-goat, with two little kids, at her feet! ‘ Wild heights,”’ 
thought she, “do these creatures elimb, but the dam will lead 
down her kid by the easiest paths; foryoh! even in the brute 
creatures, what is the holy power of a mother’s love!” and, 


* Precipices. 


' 


or 
312 M'GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


turning round her head, she kissed her sleeping baby, and, for 
the first time, she wept. . 

Overhead, frowned the front of the precipicéy never before 
touched by human hand or foot. No one had ever dreamed of 
scaling it, and the golden eagles knew that well in their in- 
stinct, as, before they built their aerie, they had brushed it with 
their wings. But all the rest of this part of the mountain-side, 
though scarred, and seamed, and chasmed, was yet accessible ; 
and more than one person in the parish had reached the bottom 
of the Glead’s Cliff. Many were now attempting it; and, ere 
the cautious mother had followed her dumb guides a hundred 
yards, though among dangers, that, although enough to terrify the 
stoutest heart, were traversed by her, without a shudder, the 
head of one man appeared, and then the head of another; and 
she knew that God had delivered her and her child, in safety, 
into the care of their fellow creatures. 

Not a word was spoken-—eyes said enough—she hushed her 
friends with her hands—and, with uplifted eyes, pointed to the 
guides lent to her by Heaven. Small, green plats, where those 
creatures nibble the wild flowers, became now more frequent; 
trodden lines, almost as easy as sheep-paths, showed that the 
dam had not led her young into danger; and now, the brush- 
wood dwindled away into straggling shrubs, and the party stood 
on a little eminence above the stream, and forming part of the 
strath. 

There had been trouble and agitation, much sobbing, and 
many tears, among the multitude, while the mother was scaling 
the cliffs; sublime was the shout that echoed afar, the moment 
she reached the aerie; then, had succeeded a silence, deep as 
death ; in a little while, arose that hymning prayer, succeeded 
by mute supplication; the wildness of thankful and congratula- 
tory joy, had next its sway; and now, that her salvation was 
sure, the great crowd rustled like a wind-swept wood. And for 
whose sake was all this alternation of agony? A poor, humble 
creature, unknown to many, even by name; one who had but 
few friends, nor wished for more; contented to work all*day, 
here — there any where, that she might be able to support 
her aged mother and her little child; and who, on Sabbath, 
took her seat in an obscure pew, set apart for paupers, in the 
kirk! . | 

‘Fall back, and give her fresh air,” said the old minister of 
the parish; and the circle of close faces widened around her, 
lying as in death. ‘‘ Gi’e me the bonnie bit bairn into my arms,” 
cried first one mother, and then another; and it was tenderly 
handed around the circle of kisses, many of the snooded maid- 
ens bathing its face in tears. ‘'There’s naa scratch about the 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 318 


puir innocent, for the eagle you see maun* hae stuck its talons 
into the lang claes, and the shawl. Blin’, blin’, maun they be, 
who see not the finger o’ God in this thing !”’ 

Hannah started up from her swoon, and, looking wildly 
around, cried, “Oh! the bird! the bird! the eagle—the eagle— 
the eagle has carried off my bonnie wee Walter !—is there nane 
to pursue?” A neighbor put her baby to her breast, and, shut- 
ting her eyes, and smiting her forehead, the sorely bewildered 
creature said, in a low voice, “Am I wauken!—oh! tell me if 
I’m wauken—or if a’ this be the wark o’ a fever, and the de- 
lirium o’ a dream ?’’—Witson. : 


LESSON CXLVI. 
THE DEAD EAGLE. 


Ir is a desolate eve; - 
Dim, cheerless is the scene my path around ; 
Patters the rain; the breeze-stirred forests grieve; 
And wails the scene with melancholy sound,— 
While at my feet, behold, 
With vigorous talons clinched, and bright eye shut, 
With proud,curved beak, and wiry plumage bold, 
Thou liest, dead eagle of the desert; but 
Preserving yet, in look, thy tameless mood, 
As if, though stilled by death, thy heart were unsubdued 


How cam’st thou to thy death? 
Did lapsing years o’ercome, and leave thee weak, 
Or whirlwinds, on thy heaven-descending path, 
Dash thee against the precipice’s peak 1— 
>Mid rack and floating cloud, 
Did sythe-winged lightning flash athwart thy brain, 
And drive thee from thy elevation proud, 
Down whirling, lifeless, to the dim-seen plain ? 
I know not,—may not guess ; but here alone 
Lifeless thou liest, outstretched beside the desert stone. 


A proud life hath been thine: 
High on the herbless rock, thou ’wok’st to birth, 
And, gazing down, saw far beneath thee shine 
Outstretched, horizon-girt, the map-like earth. 
What rapture must have gushed 
Warm round thy heart, when first thy wings essayed, 
Adventurously, their heavenward flight, and rushed 
Up toward day’s blazing eye-star, undismayed,— 


* Must. 


8 Or ee ne eT ARES NR a pee 


ee ee eee 


te = 2 faa 


—_- we 


M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


Above thee, space’s vacancy unfurled, 
And, far receding down, the dim,material world ! 


How fast—how far—how long, 
Thine hath it been, from cloud-vailed aerie high 
To swoop, and still the woodlark’s lyric song, 
The leveret’s gambols, and the lambkin’s ery? 
The terror-stricken dove 
Cowered down amid the oak-wood’s central shade; 
While ferny glens below, and cliffs above, 
To thy fierce shriek, responsive echo made, 
Carrying the wild alarm from vale to vale, 
That thou, the forest king, wert out upon the gale! 


- When wooded giens were dark, 
And o’er moist earth, glowed morning’s rosy star, 
High o’er the scarce tinged clouds, ’t was thine to mark 
The orient chariot of the sun afar: 
And ch! how grand to soar 
Beneath the full moon, on full pinion driven ; 
To pierce the regions of gray cloud-land o’er. 
And drift amid the star-isled seas of heaven! 
Even like a courier, sent from earth to hold 
With space-dissevered worlds, unawed, communion bold. 


Dead king-bird of the waste! 
And is thy curbless span of freedom o’er ? 
No more shall thine ascending form be traced ? 
And shall the hunter of the hills no more 
Hark to thy regal ery? 
While soaring o’er the stream-girt vales, thy form, 
Lessening, ccmmingles with the azure sky, 
Glimpsed ‘mid the masses of the gathering storm, 
As if it were thy proud resolve to see, 
Betwixt thee and dim earth, the zig-zag lightnings flee! 


A ¢hild of freedom thou,— 
Thy birth-right the tall cliff and sky beyond: 
Thy feet were fetterless; thy fearless brow, 
Ne’er quailing, tyrant man’s dominion owned. 
But nature’s general law 
The slave and freeman must alike obey : 
Pride reels; and Power, that kept a world ‘in awe, 
The dreadful summons hears; and where are they ? 
Vanished, like night-dreams, from the sleeper’s mind, 
Dust, ’mid dissolving day, or clouds before the wind! 
Lir., Souvenir 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 315 


LESSON CXLVIL. 
THE MONK. 


A poor monk, of the order of St. Francis, came into the room 
to beg something for his convent. ‘The moment I cast my eyes 
upon him, I was predetermined not to give him a single sous,* 
and, accordingly, put my purse into my pocket, buttoned it up, 
set myself a little more upon my center, and advanced up gravely , 
to him. ‘There was something, I fear, forbidding in my look ; I 
have his figure this moment before my eyes, and think there 
was that in 1t which deserved better. 

- The monk, as I judged from the break in his tonsure—a few 
seattered white hairs being all that remained of it—might be about 
seventy; but from his eyes, and that sort of fire that was in 
them, which seemed more tempered by courtesy than years, could 
be no more than sixty—truth might lie between—he was certainly 
sixty-five ; and the general air of his countenance, notwithstand- 
ing something seemed to have been planting wrinkles in it before 
their time, agreed to the account. - It was one of ‘those heads 
which Guido has often painted; mild, pale, penetrating, free from 
all common-place ideas of fat, contented ignorance looking down- 
wards upon the earth—it looked forwards; but looked as if it 
looked at something beyond this world. How one of his order 
came by it, Heaven above, who let it fall upon a monk’s shoul- 
ders, best knows ; but it would have suited a Bramin, and had I 
met it upon he plains of Hindostan, I should have reverenced it. 

The rest of his outline may be given in a few strokes; one 
might put it into the hands of any one to design, for it was nei- 
ther elegant nor otherwise, but as character and expression made 
it so: it was a thin, spare form, something above the common 
size, if it lost not the distinction by a bend forwards in the fig- 
ure—but it was the attitude of entreaty; and, as it now stands 
present to my imagination, it gained more than it lost by it. 

When he had entered the room three paces, he stood still; and 
laying his left hand upon his breast, (a-slender, white staff, with 
which he journeyed, being in his right,) when I had got close 
up to him, he introduced himself with the little story of the 
_ wants of his convent, and the poverty of his order; and did it 
with so simple a grace, and such an air of deprecation was there 
in the whole cast of his look and figure, I was bewitched not to 
have been struck with it. A better reason was, I had predeter- 
mined not to give him a single sous. 

«*'T is very true,”’ said I, replying to a cast upwards with his 


ce re 


* Pronounced soo. 


Sie ee age 


Fan Os 


- Ae: 


— 


EE 


316 M’GUFFEY'S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


eyes, with which he had concluded his address, “’t is very true, 
and Efeaven be their resource who have no other but the charity 
of the world, the stock of which, I fear, is no way sufficient for 
the many great claims which are hourly made upon it.” As I 
pronounced the words gréat claims, he gave a slight glance with 
his eye downwards upon the sleeve of his tunic. I felt the full 
force of the appeal. “I acknowledge it,”’ said I, ‘*a coarse habit, 
and that but once in three years, and meager diet, are no great 
niatters; the true point of pity is, as they can be earned in the 
world with so little industry, that your order should wish to pro- 
cure them by pressing upon a fund which is the property of the 
lame, the blind, the aged, and the infirm: the captive, who lies 
down counting over and over again the days of his afilictions, 
languishes, also, for his share of it; and had you been of the 
order of Mercy, instead of the order of St. Francis, poor as I 
am,’’ continued J, pointing at my portmanteau, “ full cheerfully 
should it have been opened to you for the ransom of the unfor- 
tunate.”’ ‘The monk made me a bow. 

‘“‘ But of .all others,’ resumed I, * the unfortunate of our own 
country have the first rights; I have left thousands in distress 
upon our own shore.’? ‘The monk gave a cordial wave of the 
head, as much as to say; No doubt there is misery enough in 
every corner of the world, as well as within our convent. “ But 
we distinguish,” said I, laying my hand upon the sleeve of his tu- 
nic, in return for his appeal, “we distinguish, my good father, be- 
twixt those who wish to eat only the bread of their own labor, 
and those who eat the bread of other people’s, and have no other 
plan in life but to get through it in sloth and ignorance, for the 
love of God.’ The poor Franciscan made no reply: a heetic, for 
a moment, passed across his cheek, but could not tarry. Nature 
seemed to have done with her resentments in him; he showed 
none, but letting his staff fall within his arm, he pressed both his 
hands with resignation upon his breast, and retired. 

My heart smote me, the moment he shut the decor. “ Pshaw!” 
said I, with an air of carelessness, three several times—but- it 
would not da: every ungracious syllable I had uttered, crowd->- 
ed back into my imagination ; I reflected I had no right over 
the poor Franciscan, but to deny him ; and that the punishment 
of that was enough to the disappointed, without the addition of 
unkind language. I considered his gray hairs; his courteous 
figure seemed to re-enter, and gently ask me what injury he had 
done me? and why I could use him thus? I would have given 
twenty livres for an advocate. I have behaved very ill, said I, 
within myself; but I have only just set out upon my travels; - 
and shall learn better manners as I get along.—STeRne. 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES, 317 


LESSON CXLVULI. 
THE PHILOSOPHER’S SCALES. 


A monk, when his rites sacerdotal were o’er, 

In the depth of his cell with his stone-covered floor, 
Resigning to thought his chimerical brain, 

Once formed the contrivance we now shall explain ; 
But whether by magic’s or alchimy’s powers, 

We know not—indeed, ’tis no bus’ness of ours. 


Perhaps,it was only by patience and care, 

At last, that he brought his invention to bear; 

In youth ’twas projected, but years stole away, 

And ere ’twas complete, he was wrinkled and gray ; 
But success is secure, unless energy fails; 

And, at length, he produced the philosopher’s scales. 


‘¢ What were they ?”” you ask; you shall presently see; 
These scales were not made to weigh sugar and tea; 

O no; for such properties wondrous had they, 

That qualities, feelings, and thoughts, they could weigh: 
Together with articles small or immense, 

From mountains or planets, to atoms of sense. 


Nought was there so bulky, but there it would lay, 
And nought so ethereal, but there it would stay, 
And nought so reluctant, but in it must go: 

All which some examples more clearly will show. 


The first thing he weighed was the head of Voltaire, 
Which retained all the wit that had ever been there ; 
As a weight he threw in a torn scrap of a leaf, 
Containing the prayer of the penitent thief; 

When the skull rose aloft with so sudden a spell, 
That it bounced like a ball on the roof of the cell. 


One time, he put in Alexander the Great, 

With a garment that Dorcas had made, for a weight, 
And, though clad in armor from sandals to crown, . 
The hero rose up, and the garment went down. 


A long row of alms-houses, amply endowed 

By a well esteemed Pharisee, busy and proud, 

Next loaded one scale ; while the other was prest 

By those mites the poor widow dropt into the chest ; 

Up flew the endowment, not weighing an ounce, 

And down, down the farthing-worth came with a bounce 


By further experiments, (no matter how,) 

He found that ten chariots weighed less than one plow ; 
A sword with gilt trapping rose up in the scale, 
Though balanced by only a ten-penny nail ; 


318 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


A shield and a helmet, a buckler and spear, 
Weighed less than a widow’s uncrystalized tear. 


A lord and a.lady went up at full sail, - 

When a bee chanced to light on the opposite scale; 
Ten doctors, ten lawyers, two courtiers, one earl, 
Ten counselor’s wigs, full of powder and curl, 

All heaped in one balance and swinging from thence, 
Weighed.less than a few grains of candor and sense ; 


A first water diamond, with brilliants begirt, 

Than one good potato, just washed from the dirt: 

Yet not mountains of silver and gold could suffice, 
One pearl to outweigh—’twas the pearl of great price. 


Last of all, the whole world was bowled in at the grate, 
With the soul of a beggar to serve for a weight, 

When the former sprang up with so strong a rebuff, 

That it made a vast rent and escaped at the roof; 

When, balanced in air, it ascended on high, 

And sailed up aloft, a balloon in the sky; 

While the scale with the soulin’t somightily fell, 

That it jerked the philosopher out of his cell.—Jane Taytor. 


LESSON CXLIX. 


THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM. 


Ir was on a summer evening, 
Old Kaspar’s work was done, 

And he, before his cottage door, 
Was sitting in the sun, 

And by him sported on the green, 

His little grandchild Wilhelmine. 


She saw her brother Peterkin 
Roll something large and round, 
~ Which he beside the rivulet, 
In playing there, had found 5 
He came to ask what he had found, 
That was so large, and smooth, and round. 


< 


Old Kaspar took it from the boy, 
Who stood expectant by; 
And then the old man shook his head, 
And with a natural sich, 
“°'T’ is some poor fellow's skull,’’ said he, 
“Who fell in the great victory. 
ae 
"aii 


OF THE ECLECTIC-SERIES. 319 


TI find them in the garden, 

For there ’s many here about; 
And often when I go to plow, 

The plowshare turns them out! 
For many thousand men,”’ said he, 
“‘ Were slain in that great victory.” 


“Now tell us what ’t was all about,” 
Young Peterkin, he cries; 
While little Wilhelmine looks up, 
With wonder-waiting eyes ; 
*¢ Now tell us all about the war, 
And what they killed each other for.”’ 


‘Tt was the English,” Kaspar cried, 
“Who put the French to rout, 
But what they killed each other for, 
I could not well make out. 
But every body said,” quoth he, 
“That ’t was a famous victory. 


‘‘ My father lived at Blenheim then, 
Yon little stream, hard by; 

They burnt his dwelling to the ground, 
And he was forced to fly ; 

So, with his wife and child, he fled, 

Nor had he where to rest his head. 


‘¢ With fire and sword, the country round 
Was wasted, far and wide; 
And many a nursing mother then, 
And new-born baby died; — 
But things like that, you know, must be 
At every famous victory. 


“They say it was a shocking sight 
After the field was won; 
For many thousand bodies here 
Lay rotting in the sun; 
But things like that, you know, must be 
After a famous victory. 


** Great praise the Duke of Marlbro’ won, 
And our young prince, Eugene.” 

“Why, ’t was a very wicked thing !”’ 
Said little Wilhelmine. 

‘* Nay—nay—my little girl,” quoth he, 

“It was a famous victory. 


“And every body praised the Duke 
Who this great fight did win.” 

“But what good came of it, at last 2” 
Quoth little Peterkin. 

‘Why, that I cannot tell,” said he, 

“« But ’t was a glorious victory.”-—SouTHey. 


- 


320 MGUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


LESSON CL. 
DESCRIPTION OF A SIEGE. 

IVANHOE, a wounded knight, and Rebeeca, a Jewess, had been impris- 
oned in the castle of Reginald Front de Boeuf. 'The friends of the prisoners 
undertake their rescue. At the’request ef Ivanhoe, who is unable to leave 
his couch, Rebecca takes her stand near a window overlooking the approach 
to the castle, and details to the knight the incidents of the contest, as they 
take place. Front de Boeuf and his garrison were Normans; the besiegers, 
axons. ; 

“Pe skirts of the wood seem lined with archers, although 
only a few are advanced from its dark shadow.”? “Under what 
banner ?”? asked Ivanhoe. ‘Under no ensign which I ean ob- 
serve,’ answered Rebecca. ‘A singular novelty,’’ muttered the 
knight, “to advance to storm such a castle without. pennon or 
banner displayed. See’st thou who they be, that act as lead- 
ers?’’ «A knight clad in sable armor is the most conspicuous,” 
said the Jewess: ‘“‘he alone is armed from head to heel, and 
seems to assume the direction of all around him.” 

‘Seem there no other leaders?’’ exclaimed the anxious in- 
quirer.”” ‘“* None of mark and distinction that I can behold from 
this station,’’ said Rebecca, “but doubtless the other side of the 
castle is also assailed. ‘They seem,even now, preparing to ad- 
vance, God of Zion protect us!—What a dreadful sight !— 
Those, who advance first, bear huge shields and defenses made 
of plank: the others follow, bending their bows as they come 
on. ‘They raise their bows! God of Moses, forgive the crea- 
tures thou hast made !”’ 

Her description was here suddenly interrupted by the signal 
for assault, which was given by the blast of a shrill bugle, and 
at once answered by a flourish of the Norman trumpets from the 
battlements, which, mingled with the deep and hollow clang of 
the kettle-drums, retorted in notes of defiance, the challenge of 
the enemy. The shouts of both parties augmented the fearful 
din, the assailants crying,“ Saint George, for merry England !” 
and the Normans answering them with loud eries of “ Onward, 
De Bracy !—Front de Boeuf, to the rescue !”’ 

“And I must lie here, like a bed-ridden monk,’’ exclaimed 
“vanhoe, “ while the game, that gives me freedom or death, is 

layed out by the hand of others! Look from the window once 
again, kind maiden, and tell me if they yet advance to the 
storm.’? With patient courage, strengthened by the interval 
which she had employed in mental devotion, Rebecca again took 
post at the lattice, sheltering herself, however, so as not to be 
exposed to the arrows of the archers, ‘* What dost thou see, 
Rebecca ?”’ again demanded the wounded knight. « Nothing, 
but the cloud of arrows flying so thick as to dazzle mine eyes, 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 321 


and to hide the bowmen who shoot them.” “ That cannot en- 
dure,’ said Ivanhoe. “If they press not right on, to carry the 
castle by force of arms, the archery may avail but little against 
stone walls and bulwarks. Look for the knight in dark armor, 
fair Rebecca, and see how he bears himself; for as the leader is, 
so will his followers be.”’ 

‘sT see him not,’’ said Rebecca.—*‘ Foul craven !’’ exclaimed 
Ivanhoe; “does he blench from the helm, when the wind blows 
highest?’ “He blenches not! he blenches not!” said Rebec- 
ea; “1 see him now: he leads a body of men close under the 
outer barrier of the barbacan.* ‘They pull down the. piles and 
palisades; they hew down the barriers with axes. His high, 
black plume floats abroad over the throng, like a raven over the 
field of the slain. ‘They have made a breach in the barriers— 
they rush in—they are thrust back! Front de Boeuf heads the 
defenders. I see his gigantic form above the press. ‘They 
throng again to the breach, and the pass is disputed, hand to 
hand, and man to man. God of Jacob! it is the meeting of two 
fierce tides——the conflict of two oceans moved by adverse 
winds :”’—-and she turned her head from the window, as if 
unable longer to endure a sight so terrible. 

Speedily recovering her self-contro], Rebecca again looked 
forth, and almost immediately exclaimed, “ Holy prophets of 
the law! Front de Boeuf and the Black Knight fight hand to 
hand on the breach, amid the roar of their followers, who watch 
the progress of the strife. Heaven strike with the cause of the 
oppressed and of the captive !’’ She then uttered a loud shriek, 
and exclaimed, «“‘He is down!—he is down!” ~ «Who its 
dewn?’’ cried Ivanhoe; “for our dear Lady’s sake, tell me 
which has fallen?’ “'The Black Knight,’’ answered Rebecca 
faintly ; then instantly again shouted. with joyful eagerness— 
“‘But no-—but no! the name of the Lord of Hosts be blessed! 
he is on foot again, and fights as if there were twenty men’s 
strength in his single arm—his sword is broken—he snatches 
an ax from a yeoman—he presses Front de Boeuf, blow on 
blow-——the giant stoops and totters like an oak under the steel of 
the woodman—he falls—he falls!’ ‘Front de Boeuf?” ex 
claimed Ivanhoe. ‘‘ Front de Boeuf,’’ answered the Jewess; 
*‘his men rush to the rescue, headed by the haughty 'Templar,— 
their united force compels the champion to pause—they drag 
Front de Boeuf within the walls.” 

‘* ‘The assailants have won the barriers, have they not ?’’ said 
Ivanhoe. ‘'They have—they have,—and they press the be- 
sieged hard, upon the outer wall; some plant ladders, some 


* Barbacan, an outer defense, or fortification, used as a watch-tower. 


i ia lm ca il nl a eel 


822 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


swarm like bees, and endeavor to ascend upon the shoulders of 
each other ;—-down go stones, beams, and trunks of trees upon 
their heads, and as fast as they bear the wounded to the rear, 
fresh men supply their places in the assault. Great God! hast 
thou given men thine own image, that it should be thus cruelly 
defaced by the hands of their brethren!’’ ‘ Think not of that,’’ 
replied Ivanhoe; ‘this is no time for such thoughts. Who - 
yield? Who push their way 2” 

‘“‘'The ladders are thrown down,’’ replied Rebecca, shudder- 
ing; ‘the soldiers lie groveling under them like crushed: rep- 
tiles——the besieged have the better.”? «Saint George strike for 
us!’ said the knight, “do the false yeomen give way?” 
“No,” exclaimed Rebecca, “ they bear themselves right yeo- 
manly—the Black Knight approaches the postern with his huge 
ax —the thundering blows which he deals, you may hear them 
above all the din and shouts of the battle—stones and beams are 
hailed down on the brave champion—he regards them no more 
than if they were thistle-down and feathers.”’ 

‘By St. John of Acre !’’ said Ivanhoe, raising himself joy- 
fully on his couch, «‘methought there was but one man in Eng- 
land that might do such a deed.’”’ ‘The postern gate shakes,’’ 
continued Rebecca; ‘it crashes—it is splintered by his blows— 
they rush in—the out-work is won—-oh God! they hurry the 
defenders from the battlements—they throw them into the 
moat-—-O men, if ye be indeed men, spare them that can resist 
no longer !’’——** The bridge--the bridge which communicates 
with the castle-—-have they won that pass ?’’ exclaimed Ivanhoe. 
“‘No,”’ replied Rebecca; “ the ‘Templar has destroyed the plank 
on which they crossed—-few of the defenders escaped with him 
into the castle-—the shrieks and cries which you hear, tell the > 
fate of the others. —Alas! I see that it is still more difficult to 
look upon victory than upon battle.” 

‘‘ What do they now, maiden?” said Ivanhoe’; “look forth 
yet again——this is no time to faint at bloodshed.’’ «It is over, 
for the time,” said Rebecea; ‘ our friends strengthen themselves 
within the outwork which they have mastered.”’ « Our friends,” 
said Ivanhoe, “will surely not abandon an enterprise so glori- 
ously begun, and so happily attained--O no! I will put my 
faith in the good knight, whose ax has rent heart-of-oak, and 
bars of iron.--Singular,”’ he again muttered to himself, ‘if there 
can be two who are capable of such achievements. It is, it 
must be Richard Coeur de Lion.”’ 

“‘See’st thou nothing else, Rebecca, by which the Black 
Knight may be distinguished?” « Nothing,” said the Jewess, 
“all about him is as black as the wing of the night-raven. No- 
thing can I spy that can mark him further; but having once 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 323 


seen him put forth his strength in battle, methinks I could know 
him again among a thousand warriors. He rushes to the fray, 
as if he were summoned to a banquet. ‘There is more than 
mere strength ; there seems as if the whole soul and spirit of the 
champion, were given to every blow which he deals upon his 
enemies. God forgive him the sin of bloodshed! it is fearful, 
yet magnificent to behold, how the arm and heart of one man can 
triumph over hundreds.’”’—-WattTer Scott. 


LESSON CLI. 
INVASION OF SWITZERLAND BY THE FRENCH, 


Tue vengeance which the French took upon the Swiss, for 
their determined opposition to the invasion of their country, 
was decisive and terrible. ‘The history of Europe can afford 
no parallel to such cruelty. In dark ages, and the most barba- 
rous nations of the east, we must turn for similar scenes of hor- 
ror, and, perhaps, must turn in vain. ‘The soldiers, dispersed 
over the count?y, carried fire, and sword, and robbery, into the 
most tranquil and hidden vaileys of Switzerland. From the 
depth of sweet retreats, echoed the shrieks of murdered men, 
stabbed in their humble dwellings, under the shadow of the high 
mountains, in the midst of those scenes of nature which make 
solemn and pure the secret thoughts of man, and appall him with 
the majesty of God. 

The flying peasants saw, in the midst of the night, their cot- 
tages, their implements of husbandry, and the hopes of the fu- 
ture year, expiring in one cruel conflagration. ‘The men were 
shot upon the slightest provocation : innumerable women, after 
being exposed to the most atrocious indignities, were murdered, 
and their bodies thrown into the woods. In some instances this 
conduct was resented ; and for symptoms of such an honorable 
spirit, the beautiful town of Altdorf was burnt to the ground, 
and not a single house left to show where it had stood. 

The town of Staritz,a town peculiarly dear to the Swiss, as it 
gave birth to one of the founders of their liberty, was reduced to 
aheap of cinders. In this town, in the fourteenth century, a 
Swiss general surprised and took prisoner the Austrian com- 
mander, who had murdered his father; yet he forgave and re- 
leased him, upon the simple condition that he would not again 
serve against the Swiss Cantons. When the French got pos- 
session of this place, they burnt it to ashes,—not in a barbarous 
age, but now—yesterday—in an age we call philosophical ;— 


324 M’GUFFEY'’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


they burnt it, because the inhabitants had endeavored to preserve 
their liberty. 

The Swiss was a simple peasant; the French a mighty peo- 
ple, combined for the regeneration of Europe. Oh Europe, 
what dost thou owe to this mighty people? Dead bodies, ruin- 
ous heaps, broken hearts, waste places, childless mothers, wid- 
ows, orphans, tears, endless confusion, and unutterable woe. For - 
this mighty nation, we have suffered seven years of unexampled 
wretchedness, a long period of discord, jealousy, privation, and 
horror, which every reflecting man would almost wish blotted 
out of his existence. By this mighty people, the Swiss have 
lost their country ; that country which they loved so well, that 
if they heard but the simple song of their childhood, tears fell 
down every manly face, and the ‘most intrepid soldiers sobbed 
with grief. 

What then ? - Is all this done with impunity ? Are the thun- 
ders of God dumb? Are there no lightnings in his right hand ? 
Pause a little, before you decide on the ways of Providence ; 
tarry and see what will come to pass. ‘There is a solemn and 
awful courage in the human heart, placed there by God himself, 
to guard man against the tyranny of his fellows, and while this 
lives, the world is safe. ‘There slumbers even ffow, perchance, 
upon the mountains of Switzerland, some youthful peasant, un- 
conscious of the soul he bears, that shall lead down these bold 
people from their roc om to such deeds of courage as they have 
heard with their ears, a reir fathers have declared unto them ; 
to such as were done - days, and in the old times before 
them, by those magnanimous rustics, who first taught foolish 
ambition to respect “the wisdom and the spirit of simple men, 
righteously and honestly striving for every human blessing. 

Let me go on a little further in this ‘dreadful enumeration. 
More than thirty villages were sacked in the canton of Berne 
alone ;—not only was all the produce of the present year de- 
stroyed, but all the cattle unfit for human food were slaughterea, 
and the agricultural implements burnt; and thus the certainty of 
famine was entailed upon them for the ensuing year. At the 
end of all this military execution, civil exactions, still more cruel 
and oppressive. were begun; and under the forms of govern- 
ment and law, the most unprincipled men gave loose to their av 
arice and rapacity, till Switzerland has sunk at last under the 
complication of her misfortunes, reduced to the lowest ebb of 
misery and despair.—SypNEY SMITH. 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 325 


LESSON. CLILI. 
BATTLE OF TALAVERA. 


Tus battle was fought, in the year 1811, at Talavera, in Spain, by the 
armies of England and Spain, on the one side, commanded by the Duke of 
Wellington, and that of France on the other, under Bonaparte’s generals, 
In this battle the French were defeated. 


Hark! heard you not those hoofs of dreadful note 2 
Sounds not the clang of conflict on the heath? 
Saw ye not whom the reeking saber smote ? 
Nor saved your brethren ere they sunk beneath 
Tyrants and tyrants’ slaves? the fires of death, 

. The bale-fires flash on high; from rock to rock, 
Each volley tells that thousands cease to breathe ; 
Death rides upon the sulphury Siroc, 
Red battle stamps his foot, and nations feel the shock. 


Lo! where the giant on the mountain stands, 

His blood-red tresses deepening in the sun, 

With death-shot glowing in his fiery hands, 

And eye that scorcheth all it looks upon; 

Restless it rolls, now fixed, and now anon 

Flashing afar; and, at his iron feet, 

Destruction cowers to mark what deeds are done; 

For, on this morn, three potent nations meet, 

To shed before his shrine the blood he deems most sweet. 


Three tongues prefer strange orisons ich 5 
Three gaudy standards flout the pale, blue skies ; 
The shouts are France! Spain! Albion! Victory! 
The foe, the victim, and the proud ally, 
That fights for all, but ever fights in vain, 

Are met, as if at home they could not die, 

To feed the crow on Talavera’s plain, 

And fertilize the field that each pretends to gain. 


Three hosts combine to offer sacrifice én 


There shall they rot—Ambition’s honored fools! 

Yes, honor decks the turf that wraps their clay! 

Vain sophistry ! In these, behold the tools, 

The broken tools that tyrants cast away 

By myriads, when they dare to pave their way 

With human hearts,—to what? a dream alone. 

Can despots compass aught that hails their sway ? 

Or call with truth, one span of earth their own, . 

Save that wherein, at last, they crumble bone by bone?—Byron. 


326 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


-LESSON CLIT. 
THE WARRIOR'S WREATH. 


Brnorp the wreath which decks the warrior’s brow! 
Breathes it a balmy fragrance sweet? Ah, no! 
It rankly savors of the grave ; 
"Tis red—but not with roseate hues 3 
*T is crimson’d o’er 
With human gore! 
°T is wet—but not with heavenly dews. 


°T is drench’d in tears, by widows, orphans shed. 
Methinks in sable weeds I see them clad, 
And mourn in vain, for husbands slain, 
Children belov’d, or brothers dear; 
The fatherless, 
In deep distress, 
Despairing, shed the scalding tear. 
I hear, ’mid dying groans, the cannon’s crash 5 
I see, ’mid smoke, the musket’s horrid flash; 
Here, famine walks; there, carnage stalks, 
Hell in her fiery eye, she stains 
With purpled blood 
The crystal flood, 
Heaven’s altars, and the verdant plains! 


Scenes of domesti 


‘peace and social bliss 
Are chang’d to seenes of woe and wretchedness ; 
The votaries of vice increase ; 
Towns sack’d—whole cities wrapt in flame! 
Just Heaven! say, 
Is this the bay, 
Which warriors gain!—Is this call’d Fame ?—Anonymovs. 


LESSON CLIV. 
EVILS OF WAR. 


Nopopy sees a battle. ‘The common soldier fires away, amidst 
a smoke-mist, or hurries on to the charge in a crowd, which hides 
every thing from him. ‘The officer is too anxious about the per- 
formance of what he is specially charged with, to mind what 
others are doing. ‘Ihe commander cannot be present every 
where, and see every wood, water-course, or ravine, in which 
his orders are carried into execution; he learns, from reports, 
how the work goes on. It is well; for a battle is one of those 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 327 


jobs which men do, without daring to look upon. Over miles 
of country, at every field-fence, in every gorge of a valley, or 
entry into a wood, there is murder committing—wholesale, con- 
tinuous, reciprocal murder. ‘The human form—God’s image— 
is mutilated, deformed, lacerated, in every possible way, and with 
every variety of torture. ‘The wounded are jolted off in carts 
to the rear, their bared nerves crushed into maddening pain at 
every stone or rut; or the flight and pursuit trample over them, 
leaving them to writhe and groan, without assistance; and fever 
and thirst, the most enduring of painful sensations, possess them 
entirely. 

Thirst, too, has seized upon the yet able-bodied soldier, who, 
with blood-shot eye and tongue lclling out, plies his trade; blas- 
pheming; killing, with savage delight; callous, when the beni 
of his best-loved comrade are spattered over him! ‘The battle- 
field is, if possible, a more painful object of contemplation than 
the combatants. ‘They are in their vocation, se their bread: 
what will not men do for a shilling a day? But their work is 
carried on amid: the fields, gardens, and-homesteads of men un- 
used to war. ‘They left their homes, with all that habit and 
happy associations have made precious, to bear its brunt. The 
poor, the aged, the sick are left in the hurry, to be killed by 
stray shots or beaten down, as the charge or counter-charge go 
over them. ‘The ripening grain is trampled down; the garden 
is trodden into a black mud; the fruit- rees, bending beneath 
their luscious load, are shatiered by th 1n0n shot; ‘churches 
and private dwellings are used as for s, and ruined in the 
conflict; barns and granaries take » and the conflagration 
spreads on all sides. | 

At night, the steed is stabled besides tis altar, and the weary 
homicides of the day complete the wrecking of houses, to make 
their lairs for slumber. ‘The fires of the bivouac complete what 
the fires kindled by the battle have not consumed. The sur- 
viving soldiers march on, to act the same scenes over again, else- 
where; and the remnant of the scattered inhabitants return, to 
find the mangled bodies of those they had loved, amid the black- 
ened ruins of their homes; to mourn, with more than agonizing 
grief, over the missing, of whose fate they are uncertain; to feel 
themselves bankrupts of the world’s stores, and look from their 
children to the desolate fields and garners, and think of famine 
and pestilence, engendered by the rotting bodies of the half-buried 
myriads of slain. 

‘The soldier marches on,——and on,—inflicting and suffering, as 
before. War is a continuance of battles—an epidemic, striding 
from place to place, more horrible than the typhus, pestilence, 
er cholera, which, not unfrequently, follow in its train. The 


328 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


siege is an aggravation of the battle. ‘Che peaceful inhabitants 
of the beleaguered town are cooped up, and cannot fly the place 
of conflict. ‘The mutual injuries, inflicted by assailants and as- 
sailed, are aggravated; their wrath is more frenzied; then come 
the storm and the capture, and the riot and excesses of the vic- 
tor soldiery, striving to quench the drunkenness of blood in the 
drunkenness of wine. : | 
The eccentric movements of war, the marching and counter- 
marching, often repeat the blow en. districts, slowly recovering 
from the first. Between destruction and the wasteful consump- 
tion of the soldiery, poverty pervades the land. Hopeless of the 
future, hardened by the scenes of which he is a daily witness, 
perhaps, goaded ky revenge, the peasant becomes a plunderer and 
assassin. ‘Ihe families of the upper classes are dispersed; the 
discipline of the family circle is removed; a habit of living in 
the day, for the day, of drowning the morrow in transient and 
illicit pleasure, is engendered. ‘The waste and desolation which 
a battle spreads over the battle-field, is as nothing, when com- 
pared with the moral desolation which war diffuses through all 
ranks of society, in the country which is the scene of war. 
ANONYMOUS. 


ON THE REMO 


(Exrracr from Lord Chat 
British troops from Boston, & 


’ 


am’s speech, in favor of the removal of the 
ivered in the House of Lords, Jan. 20, 1775.) 

My Lorps:— When I urge this measure of recalling the 
troops from Boston, I urge it on the pressing principle, that it is 
necessarily preparatory to the restoration of your peace, and the 
establishment of your prosperity. It will then appear, that you 
are disposed to treat amicably and equitably; and to consider, 
revise, and repeal those violent acts and declarations which have 
disseminated confusion throughout your empire. 

Resistance to your acts was necessary, as it was just; and 
your vain declarations of the omnipotence of parliament, and 
your imperious doctrines of the necessity of submission, will be 
found equally impotent to convince, or to enslave your fellow- 
subjects in America, who feel, that tyranny, whether exercised 
by an individual part of the legislature, or by the bodies which 
compose it, is equally intolerable to British subjects. I there- 
fore urge and conjure your lordships, immediately to adopt. this 
conciliating measure. I will pledge myself for its immediately 
producing conciliating effects, by its being thus well-timed: but, 


~*~ 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 329 


if you delay till your vain hope shall be accomplished, of tri- 
umphanily dictating terms of reconciliation, you delay forever. 

But, admitting that this hope (which, in truth, is desperate,) 
should be accomplished, what do you gain by the interposition 
of your victorious amity? You will be untrusted and unthanked. 
Adopt this measure, then, and allay the ferment prevailing in 
America, by removing the cause; a cause, obnoxious and wun- 
serviceable ; for the merit of our army can be only in action. 
Its force would be most disproportionately exerted against a 
brave, generous, and united people, with arms in their hands, 
and courage in their hearts; three millions of people, the genuine 
descendants of a valiant and pious ancestry, driven to those de- 
serts by the narrow maxims of a superstitious tyranny. 

And is the spirit of persecution never to be appeased? Are 
the brave sons of those brave forefathers to inherit their suffer- 
ings, as they have inherited their virtues? Are they to sustain 
the infliction of the most oppressive and unexampled severity, 
and, finally, because it is the wish of the ministry, be condemned 
unheard? My lords, the Americans have been condemned un- 
heard. ‘The indiscriminate hand of vengeance has lumped to- 
gether innocent and guilty ; and, with all the formalities of hos- 
tility has blocked up the town of Boston, and reduced to beg- 
gary and famine, its thirty thousand inhabitants. 

But, ministers say, that the union in America cannot last. 
Ministers have more eyes than I have, and should have more 
ears; but, with all the information I have been able to procure, 
I can pronounce it a union, solid, perm t, and effectual. It 
is based upon an unconquerable spir ndependence, which 
is not new among them. It is, and has ever been, their estab- 
lished principle, their confirmed persuasion; it is their nature 
and their doctrine. 

I remember, some years ago, when the repeal of the stamp _ 
act was in agitation, conversing, in a friendly confidence, with a 
person of undoubted respect and authenticity on that subject; 
and he assured me, with a certainty which his judgment and 
opportunity gave him, that these were the prevalent and steady 
principles of America; that you might destroy their towns, and 
cut them off from the superfluities, perhaps, the conveniences of 
life; but that they were prepared to despise your power, and 
would not lament their loss, wh'lst they have—what, my lords? 
their woods and their liberty ! 

When your lordships look at the papers transmitted us from 
America; when you consider their decency, firmness, and wis- 
dom, you cannot but respect their cause, and wish to make it 
your own. For myself, 1 must declare and avow, that, in all my 
reading and observation, and it has been my favorite study,—I 

28 , 


* 
330 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


have read ‘Thucydides, and have studied and admired the master 
states of the world—that, for solidity of reasoning, force of sa- 
gacity, and wisdom of conclusion, under such a complication of 
difficult circumstances, no nation or body of men, can stand in 
preference to the general congress, at Philadelphia. 

I trust it is obvious to your lordships, that all attempts to im- 
pose servitude upon such men; to establish despotism over such . 
a mighty continental nation, must be vain—must be fatal. We 
shall be forced ultimately to retract; let us retract while we can, 
not when we must. I say we must necessarily undo these vio- 
lent, cppressive acts; they must be repealed; you will repeal 
them; I pledge myself for it, that you will, in the end, repeal 
them; I stake my reputation on it; I will consent to be taken 
for an idiot, if they are not finally repealed. Avoid, then, this 
humiliating, this disgraceful necessity. With a dignity becoming 
your exalted situation, make the first advances to concord, to 
peace, and happiness; for that is your true dignity, to act with 
prudence and justice. 

Every ls therefore, of utes and of policy, of dignity 
and of prudence, urges you to allay the ferment in America, by 
a removal of your troops from Boston; by a repeal of your acts 
of parliament, and by a demonstration of your amicable disposi- 
tion toward your colonies. On the other hand, every danger 
and every hazard impend, to deter you from perserverance in 
your present ruinous measures. Foreign war is hanging over 
your heads by a slight and brittle thread, and France and Spain 
are watching your conduct, and waiting for the maturity of your 
errors. ae. 

To conclude, my lords, if the ministers thus persevere in mis- 
advising and misleading the king, I will not say that they can 
alienate the affections of his subjects from his crown; but I will 
affirm, that they will make the crown not worth his wearing ! 
I will not say, that the king is betrayed; but I will pronounce, 
that the kingdom is undone !—Lorp CuaTruaM 


LESSON CLVI. 
EDWARD AND WARWICK, 


Edward. let me have no intruders; above all, 
Keep Warwick from my sight— 


Enter WaRwIck. 


Warwick. Behold him here— 3 
No welcome guest, it seems, unless I ask 


* 
OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. “334 


My lord of Stafford’s leave—there was a time, ’ 
When Warwick wanted not zs aid, to gain 
Admission here. 
Ed. ‘Fhere-was a time, perhaps, 
When Warwick more desired, and more deserved it. 
War. Never; I’ve been a foolish, faithful slave; 
All my best years, the morning of my life, 
Have been devoted to your service: what +. 
Are now the fruits? Disgrace and infamy; 
My spotless name, which never yet the breath 
Of calumny had tainted, made the mock 
For foreign fools to carp at; but ’t is fit, 
Who trust in princes, should be thus rewarded. 
Ed. 1 thought, my lord, I had full well repaid 
Your services with honors, wealth, and power 
Unlimited: thy all-directing hand 
Guided in secret every latent wheel 
Of government, and mov’d the whole machine; 
~ Warwick was all in all, and powerless Edward 
Stood like a cipher in the great account. 
War. Who gave that cipher worth, and seated thee 
On Eneland’s throne? Thy undistinguished name 
Had rotted in the dust from whence it sprang, 
And molder’d in oblivion, had not Warwick 
Dug from its sordid mine the useless ore, 
And stamp’d it with a diadem. ‘Thou knowest, 
This wretched country, doom’d, perhaps, like Rome, 
To fall by its own self-destroying hand, 
Tost for so many years in the rough sea 
Of civil discord, but for me had perish’d 
In that distressful hour, 7 seiz’d the helm, 
Bade the rough waves subside in peace, and 
Your shattered vessel safe into the harbor. — 
You-may despise, perhaps, that useless aid 
Which you no longer want; but know, proud youth, 
He who forgets a friend, deserves a foe. 
Ed. Know, too, reproach for benefits received, 
Pays every debt, and cancels obligation. 
War. Why, that indeed is frugal honesty ; 
A thrifty, saving knowledge: when the debt 
Grows burdensome, and cannot be discharg’d, 
A spunge will wipe out all, and cost you nothing. 
Ed. When you have counted o’er the numerous train 
Of mighty gifts your bounty lavish’d on me, 
You may remember next the injuries 
Which I have done you; let me know them all, 
And I will make you ample satisfaction. 
War. ‘Thou canst not; thou hast robb’d me of a jewel, 
That all thy power cannot. restore to me. 
I was the first, shall future annals say, 
That broke the sacred bond of public trust 
And mutual confidence; embassadors, 


332 M’GUFFEY'S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


In after times, mere instruments, perhaps, 
Of venal statesmen, shall recall my name 
To witness, that they want not an example, 
And plead my guilt to sanctify their own. 
Amidst the herd of mercenary slaves 
‘That haunt your court, could none be found but Warwick, 
To be the shameless herald of a lie? 
Ed, And wouldst thou turn the vile reproach on me? 
It Lhave broke my faith, and stain’d the name 
Of England, thank thy own pernicious counsels 
That urg’d me to it, and extorted from me 
A cold consent to what my heart abhorr’d. 
War. Wve been abus’d, insulted, and betray’d ; 
My injur’d honor cries aloud for vengeance, 
Her wounds will never close. 
Hd. These gusts of passion ° 
Will but inflame them; if I have been right 
Inform’d, my lord, besides these dangerous scars 
Of bleeding honor, you have other wounds 
As deep, though not so fatal: such, perhaps, 
As none but fair Elizabeth can cure. 
War. Elizabeth! 
Ed. Nay, start not—I have cause 
To wonder most: I little thought, indeed, 
When Warwick told me, I might learn to love, 
He was himself so able to instruct me: 
But Pve discover’d all— 
War. And so have I— 


Thy faithless, base endeavors to supplant me. 

it, sir—Hlizabeth hath charms; 
Nor see I cught so godlik he form, 
So all-commanding in the name of Warwick, 
That he alone should revel in the rays 
Of beauty, and monopolize perfection. 
I knew not of your love. 

War. °T is false. 

You knew it all, and meanly took occasion, 
Whiist I was busied in the noble office, 
Your grace thought fit to honor me withal, 
To tamper with a weak, unguarded woman, 
And basely steal a treasure, 

Your kingdom could not purchase. 

Ed. How know you that? but be it as it may, 
T had a right, nor will I tamely yield 
My claim to happimess, the privilege 
To choose the partner of my throne: 

It is a branch of my prerogative. 

War. Prerogative! what’s that? the boast of tyrants 
A borrow’d jewel, glittering in the crown 
With specious luster, lent but to betray 
You had it, sir, and hold it, from the people. 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 333 


Ed. And therefore do I prize it; I would guard 
Their liberties, and they shall strengthen mine: 
But when preud faction and her rebel crew 
Insult their sovereign, trample on his law, 
And bid defiance to his power, the people 
In justice to themselves, will then defend 
His cause, and vindicate the rights they gave. 

War. Go to your darling people, then; for soon, 
If I mistake not, ’t will be needful; try 
Their boasted zeal, and see if one of them 
Will dare to lift his arm up in your cause, 
If I forbid him. 

Ed. Is it so, my lord? 
Then mark my words: I ’ve been your slave too long 
And you have ruled me with a rod of iron; 
But henceforth, know, proud peer, | am thy master, 
And will be so; the king who delegates 
His power to others’ hands, but ill deserves 
The crown he wears. 

War. Look well then to your own: 
It sits but loosely on your head ; for, know, 
The man who injured Warwick, never pass’d 
Unpunished yet. 

Ed. Nor he who threatened Kdward— 
You may repent it, sir—my guards there !—seize 
This traitor, and convey him to the Tower— 
There, let him learn obedience. —TRaNSLATED FROM THE -Frenca. 


LESSON CLY 


EULOGY ON LA FAYETTE.* 


Wuite we bring our offerings for the mighty of our own 
land, shall we not remember the chivalrous spirits of other 
shores, who shared with them the hour of weakness and woe? 
Pile to the clouds the majestic column of glory; let the lips of 
those who can speak well, hallow each spot where the bones of 
your bold repose ; but forget not those who, with your bold, 
went out to battle. . 

among these men of noble daring, there was one, a youn 
and gallant stranger, who left the blushing vine-hills of his de- 
lightful France. The people whom he came to succor were not 
his Reape; ; he knew them only in the melancholy story of their 


*In 1824, fifty years after the war of Independence, in which he had taken 
an active part, La Fayette again visited the United States, and was received 
every where with a spontaneous burst of acclamation and rejoicing. 


= 


334 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 

wrongs. He was no mercenary wretch, striving for the spoil 
of the vanquished; the palace acknowledged him for its lord, 
and the valleys yielded him their increase. He was no name- 
less man, staking life for reputation; he ranked among nobles, 
and looked unawed upon kings. He was no friendless outcast, 
seeking for a grave to hide his cold heart; he was girdled by 
the companions of his childhood; his kinsmen were about him 3. 
his wife was before him. 

Yet from all these he turned away and came. Like a lofty 
tree, that shakes down its green glories, to battle with the win- 
ter’s storm, he flung aside the trappings of place and pride, to 
crusade for Freedom, in Freedom’s holy land. He came,—but 
not in the day of successful rebellion,—not when the new-risen 
sun of Independence had burst the cloud of time, and careered 
to its place in the heavens. He came when darkness curtained 
the hills, and the tempest was abroad in its anger; when the 
plow stood still in the field of promise, and briers cumbered 
the garden of beauty ; when fathers were dying, and mothers 
were weeping over them; when the wife was binding up the 
gashed bosom of her husband, and the maiden was wiping the 
death-damp from the brow of her lover. He came when the 
brave began to fear the power of man, and the pious to doubt 
the favor of God. It was then that this ong joined the ranks of 
a revolted people. Freedom’s little phalanx bade him a grateful 
welcome. With them he courted the battle’s rage ; with theirs, 
his arm was lifted; a theirs, his blood was shed. . 

Long and doubt as the conflict. At isi kind Heaven 
smiled on the good eause, and the beaten invaders fled. ‘The 
profane were driven from the temple of Liberty, and,at her pure 
shrine, the pilgrim warrior, with his adored COMMANDER, knelt 
and worshiped. Leaving there his offering, the mcense of an 
uncorrupted spirit, he at length rose, and, crowned with benedic- 
tions, turned his happy feet toward his long-deserted home. 

After nearly fifiy years, that onz has come again. Can mor- 
tal tongue tell, can mortal heart feel the sublimity of that com- 
ing? Exulting millions rejoice in it; and their loud, long, trans- 
porting shout, like the mingling of many winds, rolls on, undy- 
ing, to freedom’s farthest mountains. A congregated nation 
comes around him. Old men biess him, and children reverence 
him. ‘The lovely come out to look upon him; the learned 
deck their halls to greet him; the rulers of the land rise up to 
do him homage. How his full heart labors! He views the 
rusting trophies of departed days ; he treads upon the high places 
where his brethren molder; he bends before the tomb of his 
FATHER ;—his words are tears—the speech of sad remembrance. 
But he looks round upon a ransomed land and a joyous race; 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 335 
é : 
he beholds the blessings, those trophies secured, for which those 
brethren died, for which that Farner lived; and again his words 
are tears—the eloquence of gratitude and joy. 

Spread forth creation like a map; bid earth’s dead multitude 
revive; and of all the pageants that ever glittered to the sun, 
when looked his burning eye on a sight like this? Of all the 
myriads that have come and gone, what cherished minion ever 
ruled an hour like this? Many have struck the redeeming blow 
for their own freedom; but who, like this man, has bared his 
bosom in the cause of strangers. Others have lived in the love 
of their own people; but who, like this man, has drank his 
sweetest cup of welcome with another? Matchless chief! Of 
glory’s immortal tablets, there is one for him, for him alone! 
- Oblivion shall never shroud its splendor; the everlasting flame 
of liberty shall euard it, that the generations of men may repeat 
the name recorded there, the beloved name of La Fayette. 

SPRAGUE. 


LESSON CLVIIL. 
CSPARACTER OF LA FAYETTE 


Tere have been those who have denied to La Fayette the 
name of a great man. What is greatness ? Does goodness 
belong to greatness, and make an eng jal part of it? Is there 
yet virtue enough left in the world, ta the sentiment, that 


‘?'T ig phrase absurd, to call in great ?”’ 

If there is, who, I would ask, of he prominent names in 
history, has run through such a career, with so little reproach, 
justly or unjustly bestowed? Are military courage and con- 
duct the measure of greatness? La Fayette was intrusted by 
Washington with all kinds of service; the laborious and compli- 
cated, which required skill and patience; the perilous, that de- 
manded nerve; and we see him keeping up a pursuit, affecting a 
retreat, out-maneuvering a wary adversary with a superior force, 
harmonizing the action cf French regular troops and American 
militia, commanding an assault at the point of the bayonet, and 
all with entire success and brilliantreputation. Is the readiness to 
meet vast responsibility, a proof of greatness? ‘The memoirs of 
Mr. Jefferson show us, that there was a moment in 1789, when 
, La Fayette took upon himself, as the head of the military force, 
the entire responsibility of laying down the basis of the revolu 
tion. 

~ Is the cool and brave administration of gigantic power, a mark 
of greatness? Jn all the whirlwind of the revolution, and when, 


- 


336 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


as commander-in-chief of the National Guard, an organized 
force of three millions of men, who, for any popular purpose, 
needed but a word, a look to put them in motion,—and he their 
idol,—-we behold him ever calm, collected, disinterested ; as free 
from affectation as selfishness, clothed not less with humility 
than with power. Is the fortitude required to resist the multi- 
tude pressing on their leader to glorious crime, a part of great- 
ness? Behold him, the fugitive and the victim, when he might 
have been the chief of-the revolution. Is the solitary and un- 
aided opposition of a good citizen to the pretensions of an abso- 
lute ruler, whose power was as boundless as his ambition, an 
effort of greatness? Read the letter of La Fayette to Napoleon 
Bonaparte, refusing to vote for him as consul for life. 

Is the voluntary return, in advancing years, to the direction of 

affairs, at a moment like that, when, in 1815, the ponderous ma- 
chinery of the French empire was flying asunder,—stunning, 
rending, crushing thousands on every side,—a mark of great- 
ness? Contemplate La Fayette at the tribune, in Paris, when 
allied Enrope was thundering at its gates, and Napoleon yet 
stood in his desperation and at bay. Lastly, is it any proof of 
greatness to be able, at the age of seventy-three, to take the lead 
of a successful and bloodless revolution ; to chapge the dynasty ; 
to organize, exercise, and abdicate a military command of three 
and a half million of men; to take up, to perform, and lay down 
the most momentous, delicate, and perilous duties, without pas- 
sion, without hurry, ¥ selfishness? Is it great to disregard 
the bribes of title, of yoney ; to labor and suffer for great 
public ends, alone ; toa to principle under all circumstances ; 
to stand before Europe o merica conspicuous for sixty years, — 
in the most responsible stations, the acknowledged admiration of 
all good men ? 
[think I understand the proposition, that La Fayette was nota 
great man. It comes from the same school, which, also, denies 
greatness to Washington, and which accords it to Alexander and 
Cesar, to Napoleon and his conqueror. When I analyze the 
oreatness of these distinguished men, when contrasted with that 
of La Fayette and Washington, I find either one idea omitted, 
which is essential to true greatness, or one included as essential, 
which belongs only to the lowest conception of greatness. ‘The 
moral, disinterested, and purely patriotic qualities, are wholly 
wanting in the greatness of Cesar and Napoleon ; and on the other 
hand, it is a certain splendor of sucess, a brilliancy of result, which, 
with the majority of mankind, marks them out as the great men 
of our race. But not only are a high morality and a true patri- . 
otism essential to greatness; but they must first be renounced, 
before a ruthless career of selfish conquest can begin. 


. OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES 337 

I profess to be no. judge of military combinations; but, with 
the best reflection I have been able to give the subject, I perceive 
no reason to doubt, that, had La Fayette, like Napoleon, been, by 
principle, capable of hovering on the edge of ultra-revolution ; 
never halting long enough to be denounced; never plunging too 
far to retreat; but with a cold and well-balanced selfishness, sus- 
taining himself at the head of affairs, under each new phase of 
revolution, by the compliances sufficient to satisfy its demands 
had his principles allowed him to play this game, he might have 
anticipated the career of Napoleon. At three different periods, 
he had it in his power, without usurpation, to take the govern- 
ment into his own hands. He was invited, urged todoso. Had 
he done it, and made use of the military means at his command, 
to maintain and perpetuate his power, he would then, at the sac- 
rifice of all his just claims to the name of great and good, have 
reached that which vulgar admiration alone worships,—the great- 
ness of high station and brilliant success. 

But it was the greatness of La Fayette, that looked down on 
greatness of the false kind. He learned his lesson in the school 
of Washington, and took his first practice in victories over him- 
self. Let it be questioned by the venal apologists of time-hon- 
nored abuses ; let it be sneered at by national prejudice and party 
detraction ; let it be denied by the admirers of war and conquest; 
by the idolaters of success ;—but let it be gratefully acknowl- 
edged by good men; by Americans;»by every man, who has 
sense to distinguish character fro who has a hee to 
beat in concert with the pure enthusia 

There is not, throughout the wor! fend of i@erty, who 
has not dropped his head, when he has heard that La Fayette is 
no more. Poland, Italy, Greece, Spain, Ireland, the South 
American republics,—every country, where man is struggling 
to recover his birth-right,—has lost a benefactor, a patron in La 
Fayette. But you, young men, at whose command I speak, for 
you a bright and particular lodestar is henceforward fixed in the 
front of heaven. What young man, that reflects on the history 
‘of La Fayette; that sees him in the morning of his days, the 
associate of sages, the friend of Washington, but will start with 
new vigor on the path of duty and renown? 

And what was it, fellow-citizens, which gave to our La Fayette 
his-spotless fame? The love of liberty. What has consecrated 
his memory in the hearts of good men? The love of liberty. 
What nerved his youthful arm with strength, and inspired him 
in the morning of his days with sagacity and counsel?! The 
living love of liberty. To what did he sacrifice power, and 

rank, and country, and freedom itself? ‘To the horror of licen- 
tiousness ; to the sanctity of plighted faith ; to the love of liberty 
29 


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& 


4 


338 ; ” hi RHETORICAL GUIDE 
wc 


tect . Thus, the great principle of your revolution- 

ary fathers, of your pilgrim sires, the great principle of the age, 

was the rule of his life; the love of liberty, protected by law. 
el . EVERETT. 


LESSON CLIX. 
THE VOICE OF SPRING. 


I come, I come! ye have called me long; 

I come o’er the mountains, with light and song; 
Ye may trace my step o’er the wakening earth, 
By the winds which tell of the violet’s birth, 
By the primrose stars in the shadowy grass, 
By the green leaves, opening as I pass. 


I have breathed on the south, and the chestnut flowers 
By thousands have burst from the forest bowers, 

And the ancient graves and the fallen fanes, 

Are vailed with wreaths on Italia’s plains ; 

But it is not for me, in my hour of bloom, 

To speak of the ruin or the tomb. 


_ _ The fisher nny sea, 
And ther er the pastures free, 
And the nge of softer green, 

And the mo bright where no foot hath been. 


1 have sent through the wood-paths a glowing sigh, 
And called out each voice of the deep blue sky; 
From the night-bird’s lay, in the starry time, 

In the groves of the soft Hesperian clime, 

To the swan’s wild note, by the Iceland lakes, 
When the dark fir-branch into verdure breaks. 


From the streams and founts I have loosed the chain, 
They are sweeping on to the silvery main, 

They are flashing down from the mountain brows, 
They are flinging spray o’er the forest boughs, 

They are bursting fresh from their sparry caves, 

And the earth ean with the joy of waves. 


Come forth, O ye children of gladness, come! 

‘i Where the violets lie, may be now your home. 
Ye of the rose-lip, and dew-bright eye, 
And the bounding footstep, to meet me, fly! ae 
With the lyre, and the wreath, and she falias layer 
Come forth to the sunshine ;—I may not stay. 


yall hee = ; 
3 *4 il %, 
Pe + a the 


F 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES, 339 
Away from the dwellings-of care-worn men! * 
The waters are sparkling in grove and glen ; 
Away from the chamber and silent hearth! 
The young leaves are dancing in breezy mirth; 
Their light stems thrill to the wild-wood strains, 
And youth is abroad in my green domains. 


But ye !—ye are changed since ye met me last! 

There is something bright from your features passed ! 
There is that come over your brow and eye, 

Which speaks of the world, where the flowers must die! 
Ye smile! but your smile hath a dimness set; 


~Oh! what have ye looked on, since last we met? 


Ye are changed, ye are changed !—and I see not here 
All whom I saw in the vanished year: 

There were graceful heads, with their ringlets bright, 
Which tossed in the breeze, with a play of light, 
‘There were eyes, in whose glistening laughter lay 

No faint remembrance of dull decay. 


There were steps that flew o’er the cowslip’s head, 

As if for a banquet all earth were spread 5 

There were voices that rung through the sapphire-sky, 

And had not a sound of mortality! 

Are they gone? Is their mirth from the mountains passed } q 
Ye have looked on death, since evs met me last! 


I know whence the shadow ; you now , 
Ye have strewn the dust on the q 
Ye have given the lovely to e 
She hath taken the fairest of | 
With their laughing eyes, an¢ : 
They have gone from among you, in silence, down! 
They are gone from among you, the young and fair; 
Ye have lost the gleam of their shining hair! 

But I know of a land, where there falls no blight, 

I shall find them there, with their eyes of light! 

Where Death, ’midst the bloom of the morn may dwell, 
I tarry no longer,—farewell, farewell ! 


The summer is coming, on soft winds borne ; 
Ye may press the grape, ye may bind the corn! 
For me, I depart to a brighter shore ; 
Ye are marked by care, ye are mine no more. 
I go where the loved who have left you dwell, 
And the flowers are not death’s—fare-ye-well, farewell! 
_ Mrs. Hemans. 


he. 


B40 | MGUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 
¥ 


LESSON CLX. 


THE RAIN. 


Tne pleasant rain! the pleasant rain! 
By fits it plashing falls = 

On twangling leaf, and er pool ; mS 
fiow sweet its warning calls!» &, 

They know it—all the bosomy vales, ee tone 3 
High slopes, and verdant meads ; 


The queenly elms and princely oaks, 
Bow down their grateful heads. 


The withering grass, and fading flowers, ~ 3 
And drooping shrubs look gay ; PF f 

The bubbling brook, with gladlier song, i» 
Hies on its endless WAY.3%,) < 

All things of earth—the grateful things! 


Put on their robes of cheer; ” 
They hear the sound of the warning burst, 
And know the rain is near. 3 
mm F. 
“Tt comes! it comes! the slemant rain! oe sae 
I drink its cooler breath ; eet? 
It is rich w ith sichs of fainting flowers, 
And roses’ fragrant death ; 
It hath kissed mb of the lily pale, 
The bed ‘ 
And it be A its living wing 
I feel it 
And yet it co e lightning’s flash : 


Hath torn the Towering cloud ! 

With a distant roar and a nearer crash, 
Out bursts the thunder loud. 

It comes, with the rush of a god’s descent, 
On the hushed and trembling earth, 

To visit the shrines of the hallowed groves, 
Where a poet’s soul had birth. ae ‘ 


fs 
With a rush, as of a thousand steeds, aay 
Is its swift and glad descent ; ait, ats 
Beneath the weight of its passing tread, : 
The conscious groves are bent. 
Its heavy tread—it is lighter n now— 
And ret, it passeth on; 
a CORPS it is up, with a sudden lift— 
oe The pleasant rain hath gone. ~ 


The pleasant rain! the pleasant rain! © 
Tt hath passed above the earth: 


¢ Ps - , a a 


os - > 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES.. 341 


I see the smile of the opening cloud, 
Like the parted lips of mirth. 

The golden joy is spreading wide 
Along the blushing west, 

And the happy earth gives back her smiles, 
Like the flow of a grateful breast. 


ae As a blessing sinks in a grateful heart, 
J. © =. —* That knoweth all its need, 
a. So came the good of the pleasant rain, 
3: O’er hill and verdant mead. 
It shall breathe this truth on the human ear, 
_ “In hall and cotter’s home, 
\ That to bring the gift of a bounteous heaven, 
‘ ‘ The pleasant rain hath come.—Mu.uer. 
F F 


¥ 


LESSON CLXI. 


— 2, BIRDS IN AUTUMN. 


t& 


a 
a 
ai. 


~. Novemper came on, with.an eye severe, - wae se 
- _. And his stormy language was hoarse to hear ; ie 
And the glittering garland of brown and red, : 
Which he wreathed, for a while, round the forests’ head, 
In sudden anger, he rent.a Oe 
And all was cheerless, an¢ 


Then, the houseless grasshopf v 
And the humming-bird sent fe 11 for the rose, 
~And the spider,—that weaver | I 
Rolled himself up in a ball, to sleep, 

And the cricket his merry horn laid by, 
On the shelf, with the pipe of the dragon-fly. 


Soon, voices were heard at the morning prime, 
Consulting of flight to a warmer clime; 
** Let us go! let us go!” said the bright-winged jay; 
And his gay spouse sang from a rocking spray, 
“1’m tired to death of this hum-drum tree, 

» Pll go, if ’tis only the world to see.” 


“Will you go,” asked the robin, ‘‘my only love?’ 
And a tender strain from the leafless grove 
Responded, ‘“* Wherever your lot is cast, 

’Mid sunny skies, or the wintry blast, 

I am still at your side, your heart to cheer, _ 
Though dear is our nest in this thicket here.” 


The oriole told, with a flashing eye, 
How his little ones shrank from this frosty sky, 


M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


How his mate, with an ague, had shaken the bed, 
And had lost her fine voice, by a cold in her head, 
And their oldest daughter, an invalid grown, 
No health in this terrible climate had known. 


‘‘T am ready to go,” cried the plump young wren, 

‘From the hateful homes of these northern men; 

My throat is sore, and my feet are blue, 4 
I fear I have caught the consumption, too; . 

And then, Pve no confidence left, I own, — on 
In the doctors out of the southern zone.” 


Then, up went the thrush, with a trumpet-call, 

And the martins came forth from their box on the wall, 
And the owlets peeped out from their secret bower, 
And the swallows convened on the old church-tower, 
And the council of blackbirds was long and loud, 
Chattering, and flying from tree to cloud. 


‘‘ The dahlia is dead on her throne,”’ said they, 
‘‘And we saw the butterfly cold as clay; 
Not a berry is found on the russet plains, 
Not a kernel of ripened corn remains ; 
Ew’ry worm is hid, shall we longer oy, 
‘To be wasted with famine ? Aw ayl away!” * 
But what a strange clamg on lin and oak, 

From a bevy of ,brown-coated n nocking-birds broke ; 
The theme of € ; 
In a shrill rep 
That the eloque 
Their own true & 


m Bicry bold, 
s started to hear 
wild and-elear. 


Then, tribe afore tribe with its leader fair, 
Swept off through the limitless fields of air; 
Who marketh their course to the tropics bright ? 
Who nerveth their wings for their weary flight ? 
Who guideth that-caravan’s trackless way, 

By the stars at night, and the cloud by day? 


The Indian fig, with its arching screen, 
Welcomes them in to its vistas green; 
And the breathing buds of the spicy tree 
Thrill at the bursts of their revelry ; 

And the bulbul starts, ’mid his carol clear, 
Such a rustling of stranger-wings to hear. 


O wild-wood wanderers! how far away 

From your rural homes in our groves, ye stray ; 

But when they awake at the touch of Spring, 

We shall see you again, with your glancing wing 

Your nest ’mid our household trees to raise, 

And stir our hearts to our Maker’s praise.—Mrs. Stcournry. 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 


LESSON. CLXT. 
ADDRESS TO WINTER, 


O Winter! ruler of the inverted year, 
Thy scattered hair with sleet, like ashes, filled; 
Thy breath congealed upon thy lips; thy cheeks 


Fringed with a beard, made white with other snows 
Than those of age; thy forehead wrapped in clouds; 


A leafless branch thy scepter; and thy throne 
A sliding car, indebted to no wheels, 

But urged by storms along its slippery way ! 
I love thee, all unlovely as thou seem’st, 
And dreaded as thou art. 


Thou hold’st the sun 
A prisoner in the yet undawning east, 
Shortening his journey between morn and noon, 
And hurrying him—impatient of his stay— 
Down to the rosy west; but kindly still, 
Compensating his loss with added hours 
Of social converse and instructive ease, 
And gathering, at short notice, in one group, 
The family dispersed, and fixing thought, 
Not less dispersed by daylight and its cares. 
I crown thee-king of intimate delights, 
Fire-side enjoyments, home-born happiness, 
And all the comforts thatt wiy root | 
Of undisturbed retireme 
Of long, uninterrupted 
* * * 


*% 


And here, the needle plies i 
The pattern grows, the well-¢ | 
Wrought patiently into the snowy lawn, 
Unfolds its bosom; buds, and leaves, and sprigs 
And curling tendrils, gracefully disposed, 
Follow the nimble fingers of the fair; 

A wreath that cannot fade, of flowers that blow 
With most success, when all besides decay. 


The poet’s or historian’s page, by one 
Made vocal for the amusement of the rest; 


5] 


The sprightly lyre, whose treasure of sweet sounds 


The touch from many a trembling chord shakes out; 


PRE: 


And the clear voice, symphonious, yet distinct, 
And, in the charming strife, triumphant still, 
Beguile the night, and set a keener edge 
O’er female industry; the threaded steel 
Flies swiftly, and unfelt the task proceeds. 

* * i * * * 


Discourse ensues, not trivial, yet not dull, 
Nor such as with a frown forbids the play 


gs 


343 


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344 MGUFFEY'S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


- Of fancy, or proscribes the sound of mirth. 
Nor do. we madly, like an impious world, 
Who deem religion frenzy, and the God 
That made them, an intruder on their joys, 
Start at his awful name, or deem his praise 
A jarring note: themes of a eraver tone 
Exciting oft our gratitude and love, 
While we retrace, with mem’ry’s pointing wand, 
The dangers we have ’scaped, the broken snare, 
The disappointed foe, deliv’rance found 
Unlooked for, life preserved, and peace restored, 
Fruits of omnipotent, eternal love.—-Cowprr. 


LESSON CLXIIL. 
THE BAPTISM. 


Tue rite of baptism had not been performed for several 
months in the kirk* of Lanark. It was now the hottest time of 
persecution ; and the inhabitants of that parish found other pla- 
ces in which to worship God, and celebrate the ordinances of 
religion. It was now the Sabbath day,—and a small congrega- 
tion ef about a hundred souls, had met for divine serviee, in a 
place more magnifice than ay temple that human hands had 
ever built to Deity. tion had not assembled to the 
a of the bell,— t knew the hour and observed 

: for there are sun-dials among the hills, woods, 
mee and fields ; 2 shepherd and the peasant see the 
hours passing by them, n-shine and shadow. 

The church in which they were assembled was hewn by 
God’s hand, out of the eternal rock. A river rolled its way 
through a mighty chasm of cliffs, several hundred feet high, of 
which the one side presented enormous masses, and the other, 
corresponding recesses, as if the great stone girdle had been rent 
by a convulsion. ‘The channel was overspread with prodigious 
fragments of rocks or large loose stones, some of them smooth 
and bare, others containing soil and verdure in their rents and 
fissures, and here and there, crowned with shrubs and trees. The 
eye could at once command a long-stretching vista, seemingly 


closed and shut up at both extremities by the coalescing cliffs. 


This majestic reach of river contained pools, streams, and water- 
falls innumerable ; and when the water was low—which was now 
the case, in the common drought—it was easy to walk up this scene 
with the calm,blue sky overhead, an utter and sublime solitude. 


— § 


* Church. 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 345 


On looking up, the soul was bowed down by the fecling of 
that prodigious height of unscalable, and often’ overhanging 
cliff. Between the channel and the summit of the far extended 
precipices, were perpetually fiying rooks and wood pigeons, and 
now and then a hawk, filling the profound abyss with their wild 
cawing, deep murmur, or shrilly shriek. Sometimes a heron 
would stand erect and still, on some little stone island, or rise up 
like a white cloud along the black walls of the chasin: and dis- 
appear. Winged creatures alone could inhabit this region. The 
fox and wild-cat chose more accessible haunts. Yet,here came 
the persecuted christians and worshiped God, whose hand hung 
over their head those magnificent pillars and arches, scooped out 
those galleries from the solid rock, and laid at their feet the 
calm water, in its transparent beauty, in which they could see 
themselves sitting in reflected groups, with their bibles in their 
hands. 

Here, upon a semi-circular ledge of rocks, over a narrow chasm 
of which the tiny stream played in a murmuring waterfall, and 
divided the congregation into two equal parts, sat about a hun- 
dred persons, all devoutly listening to their minister, who stood 
before them on what might well be called a small, natural pulpit 
of living stone. Up to it there led a short flight of steps, and 
over it waved the canopy of a tall, graceful birch-tree. The 
pulpit stood in the middle of the%ehannel, directly facing the 
congregation, and separated fr vclear, deep, spark- 
ling pool, into which the scart poured over the 
blackened rock. The water, as 1 pool, separated into 
two streams, and flowed on each § fat altar, thus placing 
it in an island, whose large mossy § ere richly embowered 
under the golden blossoms and green tresses of the broom. 

Divine service was closed, and a row of maidens, all clothed 
in purest white, came gliding off from the. congregation, and 
crossing the stream on some stepping stones, arranged themselves 
at the foot of the pulpit, with the infants about to be baptized. 
The fathers of the infants, just as if they had been in their own 
kirk, had been sitting there during worship, and now stood up 
before the minister. The baptismal water, taken from that pel 
iucid pool, was lying, consecrated, in a small hollow of one of 


the upright stones that formed one side or pillar of the pulpit, 


and the holy rite proceeded. Some of the younger ones in that 
_ semi-circle, kept gazing down into the pool, in which the whole 
scene was reflected; and now and then, in spite of the grave 
looks, and admonishing whispers of their elders, letting fall a 
pebble into the water, that they might judge of its depth, frora 
the length of time that elapsed before the clear air-bells lay spark- 
ling on the agitated surface. The rite was over, and the reli: 


346 M’GUFFEY'S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


gious service of the day closed by.a psalm.. The mighty rocks 
hemmed in the holy sound, and sent it in a more compact vol- 
ume, clear, sweet, and strong, up to heaven. When the psalm 
ceased, an echo, like a spirit’s voice, was heard dying away, 
high up among the magnificent architecture of the cliffs; and 
once more might be noticed in the silence, the reviving voice of 
the waterfall. 

Just then,a large stone fell from the top of the cliff into the 
pool, a loud voice was heard, and a plaid was hung over on the 
point of a shepherd’s staff. ‘Their wakeful sentinel had descried 
danger, and this was his warning. Forthwith, the congregation 
rose. ‘There were paths, dangerous to unpracticed feet, along 
the ledges of the rocks, leading up to several caves and places 
of concealment. ‘The more active and young assisted the elder 
—more especially the old pastor, and the women with the in- 
fants ; and many minutes had not elapsed, till not a living crea- 
ture was visible in the channel of the stream, but all of them 
were hidden, or nearly so, in the clefts and caverns. 

The shepherd, who had given the alarm, had lain down again 
instantly in his plaid on the green-sward, upon the summit of 
these precipices. A party, of soldiers was immediately upon 
him, and demanded what signals he had been making, and to 
whom ; when one of them looking over the edge of the cliff, ex- 
claimed, “ See, see! H , we have caught the whole tab- 
ernacle of the Lord st. ‘There ‘they are, praising 
God among the st r Mouss. ‘These are the Cart- 
land Craigs. By my lyation, a noble cathedral |”? « Fling 
the lying sentinel ov ffs. Here is a canting covenanter 
for you, deceiving ho pldiers on the very sabbath day. 
Over with him, over with him; out of the gallery into the pit.” 
But the shepherd had vanished like a shadow, and mixing with 
the tall, green broom and bushes, was making his unseen way 
toward a wood. ‘Satan has saved his servant; but come, my 
lads; follow me. I know the way down into the bed of the 
stream, and the steps up to Wallace’s cave. ‘They are called 
‘‘kittle* nine stanes.’? ‘The hunt’s up. Well all be in at the 
death. Halloo—my boys—halloo !”’ 

The soldiers dashed down a less precipitous part of the wood- 
ed banks, a little below the * craigs,’’ and hurried wp the chan- 
nel. But when they reached the altar where the old gray-haired 
minister had been seen standing, and the rocks that had been 
covered with people, all was silent and solitary—not a creature 
to be seen. ‘* Here is a Bible, dropped by some of them,” cried 
a soldier, and, with Lis foot, spun it away into the pool. “A 


* * Dangerous. 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 347. 


bonnet—a bonnet,’’ cried another, ‘ now for the pretty, sanc- 
tified face, that rolled its demure eyes below it.” But after a 
few jests and oatlis, the soldiers stood still, eveing with a kind 
of mysterious dread, the black and silent walls of the rocks that 
hemmed them in, and hearing only the small voice of the stream 
that sent a profounder stillness through the heart of that majestic 
solitude. ‘Curse these cowardly covenanters—what if they 
tumble down upon our heads pieces of rock, from their hiding 
places? Advance? or retreat??? ‘There was no reply; for a 
slight fear was upon every man. Musket or bayonet could be 
of little use to men obliged to clamber up rocks, along slender 
paths, leading they knew not.where. And they were aware 
that armed men, now-a-days, worshiped God; men of iron 
hearts, who feared not the glitter of the soldier’s arms—neither 
barrel nor bayonet; men of long stride, firm step, and broad 
breast, who, on the open field, would have overthrown the mar- 
shaled line, and gone first and foremost, if a city had to be taken 
by storm. 

As the soldiers were standing together irresolute, a noise came 
upon their ears like distant thunder, but even more appalling ; 
and a slight current of air, as if propelled by it, passed whisper- 
ing along the sweet-briers, and the broom, and the tresses of the 
birch-trees. It came deepening, and es | and roaring on; and 
the very Cartland Craigs shook to their ; 
earthquake. ‘The Lord have 
And down fell many of the m 
and some on their faces, upon the 
it was like the sound of many m f 
their iron axles, down the strong ehannel of the torrent, ‘The 
old, gray-haired minister issued from 
cave, and said in a loud voice, “ ‘The Lord God terrible reign- 
eth !”’ 

_ A water-spout had burst up among the moorlands, and the 
river,in its power, was at hand. ‘There it came—tumbling along 
into that loig reach of cliffs, and, in a moment, filled it with one. 
mass of waves. Huge, agitated clouds of foam rode on the sur- 
face of a blood-red torrent. An army must have been swept 
off by that flood. The soldiers perished in a moment ;—but, 
high up in the cliffs, above the sweep of destru®@tion, were the 
_ covenanters—men, women, and children, uttering prayers to 
» God, unheard by themselves, in the raging thunder. —W son 


Bb 


448 MGUFFEW’S RiiRICAL GUIDE 


: LESSON CHLXIV. 


e 


OBSERVANCE OF THE SABBATH 


Tae Sabbath lies at the foundation of all true morality. Mo- 
rality flows from principle. Let the principles of moral obliga- 


tion become relaxed, and the practice of morality will not long - 


survive the overthrow. No man can preserve his own morals; 
no parent can preserve the morals of his children, without the 
impressions of religious obligation. 

If you can induce a community to doubt the genuineness and 
authenticity of the Scriptures; to question the reality, and obli- 
gations of religion; to hesitate, undeciding, whether there be any 
such thing as virtue or vice; whether there be an eternal state 
of retribution beyond the grave; or whether there exists any 
such being as God, you have broken down the barriers of moral 
virtue, and hoisted the flood-gates of immorality and crime. I 
need not say, that when a people have once done this, they can 
no longer exist as a tranquil and happy people. . Every bend 
that holds society together would be ruptured; fraud and treach 
ery would take the place of confidence between man and man ; 
the tribunals of justice would be scenes of bribery and injustice ; 
avarice, perjury, ambition, and revenge would walk through the 
land, and render. it m@vre lik welling of savage beasts, an 
the tranquil abode 1 christianized men. 

If there is an’ i | opposes itself to thier goss 
of human degene rows a shield before the interests 
of. moral virtue in 0 less and wayward world, it is the 
Sabbath. In the fearh icgle between virtue and vice, not- 
withstanding the powerful’ auxiliaries which wickedness finds in 
the bosoms of men, and in the seductions and influence of pop- 
ular example, wherever the Sabbath has been suffered to live, 
the trembling interests of moral virtue have always been revered 
and sustained. One of the principal occupations of this day, is 
to illustrate and enforce the great principles of sourd morality. 
Where*this sacred trust is preserved inviolate, you behold a na- 
tion convened one day in seven, for the purpose of acquainting 
themselves with the best moral principles and precepts.. And 
it cannot be otherwise, than that the authority of moral virtue, 
under such auspices, should be acknowledged and felt. 

We may not, at once, perceive the effects which this weekly 
observance produces. Like most moral causes, it operates slow- 
ly ; but it operates surely, and gradually weakens the power, 
and breaks the yoke of profligacy and sin. No villain regards 
the Sabbath. No vicious family regards the Sabbath. No im- 
monte pe eye Se regard the Sabbath. ‘The holy rest of this 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 349 


ever-memorable day, is a barrier which is always broken down, 

before men become giants in sin. Blackstone, in his Commen- 
taries on the Laws of England, remarks, that ‘+a corruption of 
morals usually follows a profanation of the Sabbath.”? It is an 
observation of Lord Chief Justice Hale, that “ of all the persons 
who were convicted of capital crimes, while he was upon the 
bench, he found a few only, who would not confess that they 
began their career of wickedness by a neglect of the duties of 
the Sabbath, and vicious conduct on that day.” 

The prisons in our own land could probably tell us, that they 
have scarcely a solitary tenant, who had not broken over the re- 
straints of the Sabbath, before he was abandoned to crime. You 
may enact laws for the suppression of immorality ; buf the se- 
eret and silent power of the Sabbath constitutes a stronger shield 
to the vital interest of the community, than any code of penal 
statutes that ever was enacted. ‘The Sabbath is the key-stone of 
the arch which sustains the temple of virtue, which, however 
defaced, will survive many a rude shock, so long as the founda- 
tion remains firm. 

_ The observance of the Sabbath is, also, most influential in 
securing national prosperity. ‘The God of Heaven has said, 
‘«Them that honor me, will I honor.” You will not often find 
a notorious Sabbath-bréaker a permanently prosperous man; 
and a Sabbath-breaking commut ever a happy or pros- 
perous community. There of unobserved influ- 
ences, oe the Sabbath exe emporal welfare of 
men. It promotes the spirit o d harmony; it ele- 
vates the poor from want; it tr ualid wretchedness ; 
it imparts self-respect and elevation of character; it promotes 
softness and civility of manners; it brings together the rich and 
the poor, upon one common level, in the house of prayer; it 
purifies and strengthens the social affections, and makes the fa- 
mily circle the center of allurement, and the source of instruc- 
tion, comfort, and happiness. Like its own divine religion, it 
6 has the promise of the life that now is, and that which is to 
come,” for men cannot put themselves beyond the reach of hope 
and heaven, so long as they treasure up this one command, 
«¢ Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy.””-—Dr. Sprine.. 


~ 


350 


M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


LESSON CLXV. 


THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM. 


Wuew marshaled on the nightly plain, 


The glittering host bestud the sky ; 
One star alone, of all the train, 

Can fix the sinner’s wandering eye. 
Hark! hark! to God the chorus ‘breaks, 
From every host, from every gem; 
But one alone, the Savior speaks, 

It is the star of Bethlehem. 


Once, on the raging seas I rode; 

The storm was loud, the night was dark, 
The ocean yawned, and rudely blow’d 

The wind that tossed my foundering bark. 
Deep horror then my vitals froze, 

Death-struck, I ceased the tide to stem 3 
When suddenly a star arose, 

It was the star of Bethlehem. 


{t was my guide, my light, my all, 
It bade my dark forebodings cease, 
And through the storm and danger’s thrall, 
It led me to the port of peace. 
Now, safely, moor’d—my perils o’er, 
I’ ll sing, first in night’s diadem, 
Forever and forever more, 


The a the ‘star of Bethlehem !—H. K. Warrtr. 


LESSON CLXVI. 
WHAT IS TIME? 


I askep an aged man, a man of cares, 
Wrinkled, and curved, and white with hoary hairs; 
‘‘'Time is the warp of life,’? he said, ‘oh tell 


The 


young, the fair, the yay, to weave it well.”’ 


I asked the ancient, venerable dead, 
Sages who wrote, and warriors who bled; 
From the cold grave, a hollow murmur flowed, 


66 Ti 


las 


me sowed the seed we reap in this abode!” 


ked the dying sinner, ere the tide 


Of life had left his veins; ‘*Time!” he replied: 
I’ve lost it!- es the treasure!’’ and he died. 


a! 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES, 351 


I asked a spirit lost; but oh, the shriek 

That pierced my soul! I shudder while I speak! 
It cried, ‘*‘A particle! a speck! a mite 

Of endless years, duration infinite!” 


i asked my Bible; and, methinks, it said, 

“Time is the present hour ; the past is fled ; 
Live! live to-day! to-morrow never yet ~— 
On any human being rose or set.” = 


I asked old Father Time himself, at last; 

But in a moment, he flew swiftly past, 

His chariot was a cloud, the viewless wind 
His noiseless steeds, which left no trace behind. 


I asked the mighty Angel who shall stand 

One foot on sea, and one on solid land; 

‘‘T now declare, the mystery is o’er; 

Time was,’ he cried, *‘ but Time shall be no more!” 
MarspDEN. 


LESSON CLXVII. 


FOLLY OF INTOXICATION 
CASSIO and IAGO 


Iago. Wuat! are you hurt, lieutenant? 

Cassio. Past all surgery. ~ 

Jago. Marry, Heaven forbid! 

Cas. Reputation, reputation, repuseae Oh, ey have lost my repu- 
tation! I have lost the immortal part of myself, and what remains is 
bestial. My reputation! Iago, my reputation ! 

Jago. AsI aman honest man, I thought you had received some 
bodily wound: there is more sense in that than in reputation. Rep- 
utation is an idle and most false imposition: oft got without merit, 
and lost without deserving. What, man! there are-ways to recover 
the general again. Sue to him, and he’s yours. — 

Cas. I will rather sue to be despised.—Drank! and squabble! 
swagger! swear! and discourse fustian with one’s own shadow! Oh, 
thou invincible spirit of wine! if thou hast no name to be known by, 
let us call thee devil. 

Jago. What was he that you followed with your sword? What 
had he done to you? 

Cas. I know not. 

fago. Is’t possible? 

Cas. I remember a mass of things, but nothing distinctly; a quar- 
rel, but nothing wherefore. Oh, that men should put an enemy into 
their mouths to steal away their brains; that we should, with joy, 
gayety, revel, and applause, transform ourselves into beasts ! * 

Iago. Why, but you are now well enough: how came you thus 
recovered ? 


~. 


ey 


a 


352 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


Cas. It has pleased the devil, Drunkenness, to give place to the 
devil, Wrath; one imper fection shows me another, to make me 
frankly despise myself. 

Iago. Come, you are too severe a moralizer. As the time, the 
place, and the condition of this country stands, I could heartily wish 
this had not befallen; but since it is as it is, mend it for your own 

ood. 

P Cas. If I ask him for my place again, he will tell me I am a 
drunkard! Had Tas many mouths as Hydra, such an answer would 
stop them all. To be now a sensible man, by and .by a fool, and 
presently a beast !—Every inordinate cup is unblessed, and the in- 
eredient is.a devil. 

lugo. Come, come, good wine is a good familiar creature, if it be 
well used; exclaim no more against it. And, good lieutenant, J 
think, you think I love you. ; 

Cas. Ihave well approved it, sir. I, drunk! 

fago. You, or any man living, may be drunk at some time, man. 
I tell you what you shall do. Our general’s wife is now the general. 
Confess yourself freely to her; importune her help to put you in your 
place again. She is of so free, so apt, so kind, so blessed a disposi- 
tion, she holds it a vice in her goodness not to do more than she is 
requested. This broken joint between you and her husband, entreat 
her to splinter; and, my fortunes against any lay worth naming, this 
crack of your love shall grow stronger than it was before. 

Cas. You advise me well. 

Jago. I protest in all the sincerity of love and honest kindness. 

Cas. I think it freely, and betimes in the morning, I will beseech 
the virtuous Desdemona to undertake for me. 

fago. - You are in the right. - Good night, lieutenant, I must go to 
the watch. 

Cas. Good night, honest lago.—SHaKsPEARE 


- 


LESSON CLXVUI 


DEATH AND THE DRUNKARD 


His form was fair, his cheek was. health ; 
His word a bond, his purse was wealth ; 
With wheat his field was covered o’er, 
Plenty sat smiling at his ‘door. 

His wife, the fount of ceaseless joy; 


ee | Now laughed his daughter, played his boy; 
» ae His library, t though large, was read 


Till half its contents decked his head. 

At morn, ’t was health, wealth, pure delight, 

’T was health, wealth, peace, and bliss at night 
I.wished not to disturb his bliss— 

"TF is gone! but all the fault is his. 


ae » 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 353 


The social glass I saw him seize, 

The more with festive wit to please, 
Daily increase his love of Caer 

Ah, little thought he J was near! 

Gradual indulgence on him stole, 
Frequent became the midnightbowl. 

J, in that bowl, the headache placed, 
Which, with the juice, his lips embraced. 
Shame next I mingled with the draught; 
Indignantly-he drank, and laughed. 


In the bowl’s bottom, bankruptcy 
( placed—he drank with tears and glee. 
Remorse did I into it pour; 
He only sought the bow] the more. 
I mingled, next, joint torturing pain; 
Little the more did he refrain. 
The dropsy in the cup I mixed ; 
Still to his mouth the cup was fixed. 
- My emissaries thus in vain 
L sent, the mad wretch to restrain. 


On the bowl’s bottom, then, myse/f 

I threw; the most abhorrent elf 

Of all that mortals hate or dread ; 
And thus in horrid whispers said, 

«¢ Successless ministers I’ve sent, 

Thy hastening ruin to prevent 5 

Their lessons nought—then here am I; 
Think not my threatenings to defy. 
Swallow this, this thy last will be,” 
For with it, thou must swallow me.” 


Haggard his eyes, upright his hair, 
Remorse his lips, his cheeks despair ; 
With shaking hands the bowl he clasp’d, 
My meatless limbs his carcass grasp’d 
And bore it to the churchyard, where 
Thousands, ere 1 would call, repair. 


Death speaks—ah, reader, dost thou hear? 

Hast thou no lurking cause to fear? 

Has not o’er thee the sparkling bowl, 

Constant, commanding, sly control ? 

Betimes reflect, betimes beware, 

Though ruddy, healthful now, and fair; 

Before slow reason lose the sway, 

Reform; postpone ancther day, 

You soon may mix with common clay. —Anoxyniovs. 


30 


354 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


LESSON CLXIX. 


hi CHOICE OF HERCULES. 


* ‘Wuen Hercules was in that part of his youth, in which it was 


natural for him to consider what course of life he ought to pur- 
sue, he one day retired into a desert, where the silence and the 
solitude of the place very much favored his meditations. As he 
was musing on his present condition, and very much perplexed 
in himself on the state of life which he should choose, he saw 
two women of larger stature than ordinary, approaching him. 

One of them had a very noble air and graceful deportment ; 
her beauty was natural and easy, her person clean and unspot- 
ted, her eyes cast toward the ground with an agreeable reserve, 
her motion and behavior full of modesty, and her raiment as 
white as snow. ‘The other had a great deal of health and flor- 
idness in her countenance, which she had helped with an artifi- 
cial white and red; and she endeavored to appear more graceful 
than ordinary in her mien, by a mixture of affectation in all her - 
gestures. She had a wonderful confidence and assurance in her 
looks, and all the variety of colors in her dress, that she thought 
were the most proper to show her complexion to advantage. 
She cast her eyes upon herself, then turned them on those that - 
were present, to see how they liked her, and often looked on 
the figure she made in her own shadow. Upon her approach 
to Hercules, she stepped before the other lady, who came for- 
ward with a regular, composed carriage, and, running up to him, 
accosted him after the following manner: 

«s My dear Hercules, I find you are very much divided in your 

thoughts upon the way of life, that you ought to choose: be my 
friend, and follow me; I will lead you into the possession of 
pleasure, and out of the reach of pain, and remove you from all 
the noise and disquietude of business. ‘The affairs of either - 
war or peace shall have no power to disturb you. Your whole 
employment shall be to make your life easy, and to entertain 
every sense with its proper gratifications. Sumptuous tables, 
beds of roses, clouds of perfumes, concerts of music, crowds of 
beauties, are all in readiness to receive you. Come along with 
me into this region of delights, this world of pleasure, and bid 
arewell forever to care, to pain, to business.’’ Hercules, hear- 
ing the lady talk after this manner, desired to know her name; 
to which she answered, ‘“‘ My friends and those who are well 
acquainted with me, call me Happiness: but my enemies and 
those who would injure my reputation, have given me the name. 
of Pleasure.” ~ 

By this time, the other lady was come up, and addressed her- 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 355 


self to the young hero in a very different manner. <‘ Hercules,’’ 
said she, ‘I offer myself to you, because I know you are de- 
scended from the gods, and give proofs of that descent, by your 
love of virtue, and application to the studies proper for your age. 
This makes me hope that you will gain, both for yourself and 
me, an immortal reputation. But before I invite you into my 
society and friendship, I will be open and sincere with you; and 
must lay this down as an established truth, that there is nothing 
truly valuable which can be purchased without pains and labor. 
‘he gods have set a price upon every real and noble pleasure. 
If you would gain the favor of the Deity, you must be at the 
pains of worshiping him; if the friendship of good men, you 
must study to oblige them ; if you would be honored by your 
country, you must take care to serve it; in short, if you would 
be eminent in war or peace, you must become master of all the 
qualifications that can make you so. ‘These are the only terms 
and conditions upon which I can promise happiness.”’ 

The goddess of Pleasure here broke in upon her discourse ; 
‘* You see,’’ said she, “ Hercules, by her own confession, the 
way to her pleasures is long and difficult, whereas that which I 
propose is short and easy.”’ ‘Alas!’ said the other lady, whose 
visage glowed with scorn and pity, ‘¢ what are the pleasures you 
propose? ‘To eat before you are hungry, drink before you are 
thirsty, sleep before you are tired; to gratify appetites before 
they are raised, and raise such appetites as nature never plant- 
ed. You never heard the most delicious music, which is the 
praise of yourself; or saw the most beautiful cbject, which is 
the work of your own hands. Your votaries pass away their 
youth in a dream of mistaken pleasures; while they are hoard- 
ing up anguish, torment, and remorse, for old age. 

As for me, I am the friend of the gods, and of good men; an 
agreeable companion of the artisan; a household guardian to the 
fathers of families ; a patron and protector of servants; an asso- 
ciate in all true and generous friendships. The banquets of my 
votaries are never costly, but always delicious; for none eat or 
drink at them, who are not invited by hunger and thirst. ‘Their 
slumbers are sound, and their wakings cheerful. My young men 
have the pleasure of hearing themselves praised by those who 
are in years: and those who are in years, of being honored by 
those who are young. Ina word, my followers are favored by 
the gods, beloved by their acquaintance, esteemed by their coun- 
try, and, after the close of their labors, honored by posterity.” 

We know, by the life of this memorable hero, to which of 
these two ladies he gave up his heart; and, I believe, every one 
who reads this, will do him the justice to approve of his choice. 

TATLER. 


356 


M'GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


LESSON CLXX. 
ALEXANDER’S FEAST. 


*T was at the royal feast, for Persia won 
By Philip’s warlike son.— 
Aloft, in awful state, 
The godlike hero sat 
On his imperial throne. 
His valiant peers were placed around, 
Their brows with roses and with myrtles bound ; 
So should desert in arms be crowned. 
The lovely Thais, by his side, 
Sat like a blooming Kastern bride, 
In flower of youth, and beauty’s pride.— 
Happy, happy, happy pair! 
None but the brave, 
None but the brave, 
None but the brave—deserve the fair 


Timotheus, placed on high 
Amid the tuneful choir, 
With flying fingers touched the lyre- 
The trembling notes ascend the sky, 
And heavenly joys inspire. 
The song began from Jove, 
Who left his blissful seats above; 
Such is the power of mighty love. 
A dragon’s fiery form belied the god- 
Sublime on radiant spheres he rode, 
When he to fair Olympia pressed, 
And stamped an image of himself, a sovereign of the world. 
The listening crowd admire the lofty sound: 
A present deity ! they shout around ; 
A present deity! the vaulted roofs rebound.— 
With ravished ears 
The monarch hears ; 
Assumes the god, 
Affects to nod, 
And seems to shake the spheres. 


The praise of Bacchus, then, the sweet musician sung ; 
Of Bacchus, ever fair, and ever young. 
The jolly god in triumph comes! 
Sound the trumpets, beat the drums. 
Flushed with a purple grace, 
He shows his honest face. 
Now, give the hautboys breath—he comes! he comes! 
Bacchus, ever fair and young, 
Drinking joys did first ordain. 
Bacchus’ blessings are a treasure; 
Drinking is the soldier’s pleasure 
Rich the treasure ; 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 357 


Sweet the pleasure; 
Sweet is pleasure after pain. 


Svothed with the sound, the king grew vain. 
Fought his battles o’er again; 
And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew the slain. 
The master saw the madness rise; 
His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes ; 
And, while he heaven and earth defied, 
Changed his hand, and checked his pride.— 
He chose a mournful muse 
Soft pity to infuse. 
He sung Darius, great and good, 
By too severe a fate, . 
Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen, 
Fallen from his high estate, . 
And weltering in his blood. 
Deserted in his utmost need 
By those his former bounty fed, 
On the bare earth exposed he lies, 
With not a friend to close his eyes.— 
~ With downcast look the joyless victor sat, 
Revolving, in his altered soul, 
The various turns of fate below, 
And, now and then, a sigh he stole, 
And tears began to flow. 


The master smiled, to see 

That love was in the next degree; 
*T'was but a kindred sound to move; 
For pity melts the mind to love. 

Softly sweet in Lydian measures, 

Soon, he soothed his soul to pleasures; 

War, he sung, is toil and trouble; 

Honor, but an empty bubble; 

Never ending, still beginning, ~ 

Fighting still, and still destroying. 

If the world be worth thy winning, 

Think, oh! think it worth enjoying! 

Lovely Thais sits beside thee; 

Take the good the gods provide thee.— 
The many rend the skies with loud applause 3 
So love was crowned, but music won the cause. 

The prince, unable to conceal his pain, 
Gazed on the fair 
Who caused his care, 
And sighed and looked; sighed and looked. 
Sighed and looked; and sighed again: 
At length, with love and wine at once oppressed, 
The vanquished victor—sunk upon her breast. 


Now, strike the golden lyre again 5 
A louder yet, and yet a louder strain: 


358 


M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


Break his bands of sleep asunder, 
And rouse him, like a rattling peal of thunder, 
Hark! hark !—the horrid sound 
Hath raised up his head, 
As awaked from the dead, - 
And amazed he stares around. 
Revenge, revenge! 'Timotheus cries— 
See the furies arise! 
See the snakes that they rear, 
How they hiss in the air, 
And the sparkles that flash from their eyes! 
Behold a ghastly band, 
Iach a torch in his hand ! 4 
These are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain, 
And, unburied, remain 
Inglorious on the plain. 
Give the vengeance due 
To the valiant crew. 
Behold, how they toss their torches on high ! 
How they point to the Persian abodes, 
And glittering temples of their hostile gods ! 
The princes applaud, with a furious joy ; 
And the king seized a flambeau, with zeal to destroy + 
Thais led the way, 
To light him to his prey; 
And, like another Helen—fired another Troy. 


Thus, long ago, 
Ere heaving bellows learned to blow, 
While organs yet were mute ; 
Timotheus, to his breathing flute 
And sounding lyre, 
Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire. 
At last, divine Cceilia came, 
Inventress of the vocal frame. 
The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store: 
Inlarged the former narrow bounds, 
And added length to solemn sounds, 
With nature’s mother-wit, and arts unknown before. 
“Let old Timotheus yield the prize, 
Or both divide the crown; 
He raised a mortal to the skies; 
She drew an angel down.—Drypen. 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 359 


LESSON CLXXI. | 
SPEECH ON THE CATHOLIC QUESTION. 


Wuerg, | ask, where are those Protestant petitions against 
the Catholic claims, which, we were told, would by this time 
have borne down your table? We were told, in the confident 
tone of prophecy, that England would have poured in petitions 
rom all her counties, towns, and corporations, against the claims 
of Ireland. JI ask, where are those petitions? Has London, her 
mighty capital, has the university of Dublin, mocked the calami- 
ties of your country, by petitioning in favor of those prejudices, 
that would render us less able to redress them? Have the peo- 
ple of England raised a voice against their Catholic fellow-sub- 
jects? No; they have the wisdom to see the folly of robbing 
the empire, at such a time, of one-fourth of its strength, on ac- 
count of speculative doctrines of faith. ‘They will not risk a 
kingdom, on account of old men’s dreams about the prevalence 
of the pope. They will not sacrifice an empire, because they 
dislike the sacrifice of the mass. 

I say, then, England is not against us. She has put ten thou- 
sand signatures upon your table in our favor. And what says 
the Protestant interest in Ireland? Look at this petition; ex- 
amine the names, the houses, the families. Look at the list of 
merchants, of divines. Look, in a word, at Protestant Ireland, 
calling to you in a warning voice; telling you, that if you are 
resolved to go on till ruin breaks, with a fearful surprise, upon 
your progress, they will go on with you; they must partake 
your danger, though they will not share your guilt. 

Ireland, with her imperial crown, now stands before you. You 
have taken her parliament from her, and she appears in her own 
person at your bar. Will you dismiss a kingdom without a 
hearing? Is this your answer to her zeal, to her faith, to the 
blood that has’so profusely graced your march to victory, to the 
treasures that have decked your strength in peace? Is her name 

nothing? her fate indifferent? Are ‘her contributions insignifi- 
eant? her six millions revenue? her ten millions trade? her two 
millions absentee? her four millions loan? Is suéh a country 
not worth a hearing? Will you, can you dismiss her abruptly 
from your bar? You cannot do it! the instinct of England is 
against it. We may be outnumbered now, and again; but, in 
calculating the amount of the real sentiments of the people, the 
ciphers that swell the evanescent majorities of an evanescent 
minister, go for nothing. 

Can Ireland forget the memorable era of 1788? Can others 
forget the munificent hospitality, with which she then gave to her 


360 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


chosen hope all she had to give? Can Ireland forget the spon- 
taneous and glowing cordiality, with which her favors were then 
received? Never! Never! Irishmen grew justly proud, in 
the consciousness of being subjects of a gracious predilection ; 
a predilection that required no apology, and called for no renun- 
ciation; a predilection that did equal honor to him who felt it, 
and to those who were the objects of it. It laid the grounds of 
a great and fervent hope; all a nation’s wishes, crowding toa 
point, and looking forward to one event, as the great coming, at 
which every wound was to be healed, every tear to be wiped 
away. 
The hope of that hour beamed with a cheering warmth and 
a seductive brillianey. Ireland followed it, with all her heart—a 
leading light through the wilderness, and brighter in its gloom. 
She followed it over a wild and barren waste; it has charmed 
her through the desert, and now, that it has led her to the con- 
fines of light and-darkness, now, that she is on the border of the 
promised land, is the prospect to be suddenly obscured, and the 
fair vision of princely faith to vanish forever! I will not be- 
lieve it; I require an act of parliament to vouch its credibility ; 
nay, more, [ demand a miracle to convince me that it is possible. 
GRATTAN. 


LESSON CLXXIL. 
ON A STANDING ARMY. 


We have heard a great deal about parliamentary armies, and 
about an army continued from year to year. I always have been, 
and always shall be, against a standing army of any kind. To 
me, it is a terrible thing; whether under that of a parliamentary, 
or any other designation, a standing army is still a standing army, 
whatever name it is called by. ‘They are a body of. men, dis- 
tinct from the body of the people; they are governed by differ- 
ent laws; and a blind obedience, and an entire submission to the 
orders of their commanding officer, is their only principle. ‘The 
nations around us are already enslaved, and have been enslaved, 
by these very means. By means of their standing armies, they 
have, every one, lost their liberties. It is, indeed, impossible that 
the liberties of the people can be preserved in’any country where 
a numerous standing army is kept up. Shall we, then, take any 
of our measures from the examples of our neighbors? On the 
contrary, from their misfortunes, we ought to learn to avoid neve 
rocks upon which they have split. 

It signifies nothing, to tell me that our army is commanded ne 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 361 


such gentlemen, as cannot be supposed to join in any measures 
for enslaving their country. It may beso. 1 hope itisso. I 
have a very good opinion of many gentlemen now in the army. 
I believe they would not join in any such measures; but their 
lives are uncertain, nor can we be sure how long they may be 
continued in command. ‘They may all be dismissed in a mo- 
ment, and proper tools put in their room. Besides, we know the 
passions of men; we know how dangerous it is to trust the bes 
of men with too much power. Where was there a braver army 
than that under Julius Cesar? Where was there ever an army 
that had served their country more faithfully? ‘That army was 
commanded, generally, by the best citizens of Rome, by men of 
great fortune and figure in their country ; yet that army enslaved 
their country. 

The affections of the soldiers toward their country, the honor 
and integrity of the under officers, are not to be depended on. 
By the military law, the administration of justice is so quick, 
and the punishment so severe, that neither officer nor soldier 
dares offer to dispute the orders of his supreme commander; he 
must not consult his own inclinations. If an officer were com- 
manded to pull his own father out of this House, he must do it; 
he dares not disobey ; immediate death would be the consequence 
of the least grumbling. And if an officer were sent into the 
Court of Request, accompanied by a body of musketeers, with 
screwed bayonets, and with orders to tell us what we ought to 
do, and how we ought to vote, I know what would be the duty 
of this House; I know it would be our duty to order the officer 
to be taken and hanged up at the door of the lobby ; but I doubt 
much if such a spirit could be found in this House, or in any 
House of Commons that will ever be in England. 

Sir, I talk not of imaginary things; I talk of what has hap- 
pened to an English House of Commons, and from an English 
army; not only from an English army, but an army that was 
raised by that very House of Commons; an army that was paid 
by them; and an army that was commanded by generals ap- 
pointed by them. ‘Therefore, do not let us vainly imagine, that 
an army raised and maintained by authority of parliament, will 
always be submissive to them. If any army be so numerous, 
as to have it in their power to overawe the parliament, they will 
be submissive as long as the parliament does nothing to disoblige 
their favorite general; but when that case happens, [ am afraid, 
that in place of the parliament’s dismissing the army, the army 
will dismiss the parliament, as they have done heretofore. 

We are told ihis army is desired to be continued but for one 
year longer, or fo. a limited term of years. How absurd is this 
distinction! Is there any army in the world, continued for any 

31 


os 
”~ 


2 
362 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


term of years? Does the most absolute monarch tell his army, 
that he isto continue them for any number of years, or any 
number of months? How long have we already eontinued our 
army from year to»year? And if it thus continues, where will 
it differ from the standing armies of those countries, which have 
already submitted their necks to the yoke?’ 

Weare come to the Rubicon; our army is now to be reduced, 
or it never will; from his majesty’s own mouth, we are assured 
of a profound tranquillity; we know there is one at home. If 
this is not a proper time, if these circumstances do not afford us 
a safe opportunity for reducing, at least, a part of our regular 
forces, we never can expect to see any reduction; and this na- 
tion, already overburdened with debts and taxes, must be loaded 
with the heavy charge of perpetually supporting a numerous 
standing army; and remain forever exposed to the danger of 
having its liberties and privileges trampled upon by any future 
king or ministry, who shall-take it into their heads to do so, and 
shall take a proper care to model the army for that purpose. 

PULTENEY. 


LESSON CLXXIIL. 


KING JOHN DIRECTING HUBERT TO THE MURDER 
OF PRINCE ARTHUR. 


King John. Come hither, Hubert, O, my gentle Hubert! 
We owe thee much; within this wall of flesh 
There is a soul counts thee her creditor, 

And with advantage means to pay thy love: 
And, my good friend, thy voluntary oath 
Lives in this bosom, dearly cherished. 

Give me thy hand. I had a thing to say— 
But I will fit it with some better time. 

By heaven, Hubert, ] am almost ashamed 
To say what good respect I have of thee. 

Hubert. 1 am much bounden to your majesty. 

K. John. Good friend, thou hast.no cause to say so yet$ 
But thou shalt have; and, creep time ne’er so slow, 
Yet it shall come for me to do thee good. 

I had.a thing to say,—but let it go: 

The sun is in the heaven, and the proud day, 
Attended with the pleasures of the world, 

Is all too wanton, and too full of gauds, 

To give me audience:—If the midnight bell 3 
Did, with his iron tongue and brazen mouth, 

Sound one unto the drowsy race of night; : 
If this same were a church-yard where we stand, ee 
And thou possessed with a thousand wrongs ; ae Ae 


a”, » 
‘i 3 
» OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 

Or if that swly spirit, melancholy, : 
Had bak’d thy blood and made. it heavy, thick ; 
(Which, else, runs trickling up and down the veins, 
Making that idiot, laughter, keep men’s eyes, _ 


’ And strain their cheeks to idle merriment, 


A passion hateful to my purposes ;) . 

Or if that thou could’St see me without eyes, 

Hear me without thine ears, and make reply 

Without a tongue, using conceit alone, 

Without eyes, ears, and harmful sound of words; 

Then, in despite of brooded, watchful day, 

I would into this bosom pour my thought; 

But ah, I will not :—vYet I love thee well; 

And, by my troth, I think thou lov’st me well. 
Hub. So well, that what you bid me undertake, 

Though that my death were adjunct to my act, 

By heaven, I'd do it. 

, JOnn. % Do I not know, thou would’st ? 

Good Hubert, Hubert, throw thine eye 

On yon young boy; 1 ’Il tell thee what, my friend, 

He is a very serpent in my way; 

And, wheresoe’er this foot of mine doth trace, 

He lies before me: Dost thou understand met? 

Thou art his keeper.— 


Hub. And I will keep him so, 
That he shall not offend your majesty. 

K. Jthn. Death. 

Hub. My lord ? 

K. John. A grave. 

Hub. He shall not live. 
_ K. John. Enough. 


I could be merry now. Hubert, I love thee; - 
Well, I ’ll not say what I intend for thee: 
Remember. 


LESSON CLXXIV. 


REMORSE OF KING JOHN. 


363 


’ SHAKSPEARE. 


Hubert. My lord, they say five moons were seen to-night : 


- Four fixed ; and the fifth did whirl about 
__ The other four, in wondrous motion. 


King John. Five moons? 
Hub, Old men and beldams_ in the streets 
Do prophesy upon it dangerously: 
Young Arthur’s death is common in their mouths 


7 yhisper one another in the ear; 


An 
And hi that speaks, doth gripe the hearer’s wrist, 


po oe they talk of him; they shake their heads, 


c ‘ 


% 
364 M’GUFFEY'S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


Whilst he, that hears, makes fearful action 
With wrinkled brows, with nods, with rolling eyes. 
I saw a smith stand with his hammer, thus, 
The whilst his iron did on the anvil cool, 
With open mouth swallowing a tailor’s news ; 
Who, with his shears and measure in his hand, 
Standing on slippers, (which his nimble haste * 
Had falsely thrust upon contrary feet, ) 
Told of many thousand warlike French, 
That were embattled and rank’d in Kent; 
Another lean, unwashed artificer, 
Cuts off his tale, and talks of Arthur’s death. 
K. John. Why seck’st thou to possess me with these fears ? 
Why urgest thou so oft young Arthur’s death? 
Thy hand hath murdered him; I had mighty cause 
To wish him dead, but thou hadst none to kill him. 
Hub. Had none, my lord! Why, did you not provoke me ? 
K. John. tis the curse of kings, to be attended 
By slaves that take their humors for a warrant 
To break within the bloody house of life ; 
And on the winking of authority, 
To understand a law ; to know the meaning 
Of dangerous majesty, when, perchance, it “frowns 
More upon humor than advised respect. 
Hub. Were is your hand and seal for what I did. . 
kK, John. Oh, when the last account ’twixt heaven and earth 
Is to be made, then shall this hand and seal 
Witness against us to damnation! 
How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds, 
Makes ill deeds done! Hadst not thou been by, 
A fellow by the hand of nature mark’d, 
Quoted and sign’d to do a deed of shame, 
‘This murder had not come into my mind : 
But, taking note of thy abhorred aspect, 
Finding thee fit for bloody villainy, 
Apt, liable to be employed in danger, 
I faintly broke with thee of Artnur’s death; 
And thou, to be endeared to a king, 
Made it no conscience to destroy a prince. 
Hub. My lord. 
K. John. Uadst thou but shook thy head, or made a pause, 
When I spoke darkly what I purposed ; 
Or turned an eye of doubt upon my face, 
And bid me tell my tale in express words ; 
Deep shame had made me dumb, made me break off, 
And those thy fears might have wrought fears in me 
But thou didst understand me by my signs, 
And didst in signs again parley with sin; 
Yea, without stop didst let thy heart consent, 
And, consequently, thy rude hand to act 
The deed, which both our tongues hold vile to name,— 
Out of my sight, and never see me more! 


‘ 


i 
% 


. OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. | 365 _ 


My nobles leave me; and my state is braved, 
Even at my gates, with ranks of foreign powers ; 
Nay, in the body of this fleshly land, 
This kingdom, this confine of blood and breath, 
Hostility and civil tumult reigns 
Between my conscience, and my cousin’s death. 
Hub. Arm you against your other enemies, 
I'll make a peace between your soul and you. 
Young Arthur is alive: this hand of mine 
Is yet a maiden and an innocent hand, 
Not painted with the crimson spots of blood. 
Within this bosom never entered yet 
The dreadful notion of a murderous thought, 
And you have slandered nature in my form; 
Which, however rude exterlorly, 
Is yet the cover of a fairer mind 
Than to be butcher of an innocent child. 
K. John. Doth Arthur live? Oh, haste thee to the peers, 
Throw this report on their incens’d rage, _ 
And make them tame to their obedience ! 
Forgive the comment that my passion made 
Upon thy feature: for my rage was blind, 
And foul, imaginary eyes of blood 
Presented thee more hideous than thou art. 
O, answer not; but to my closet bring 
The angry lords, with all expedient haste ; mei 
I conjure thee but slowly: run more fast.—SuaksPeare 


by fw 
i 


LESSON CLXXV 
THE TWINS 


, Tuer Kirk of Auchindown stands, with its burial-ground, on a 
little, green hill surrounded by an irregular and straggling village, 
or rather about a hundred hamlets clustering round it, with 
their fields and gardens. <A few of these gardens come close up 
to the church-yard wall, and, in spring time, many of the fruit 
trees hang rich and beautiful over the adjacent graves.“ The 
voices and the laughter of the children at play on the green be- 
fore the parish school, or their composed murmur, when at their 
various lessons together, in the room, may be distinctly heard 


all over the burial-ground. So may the song of the maidens 
going to the well; while all around, the singing of birds is thick 


and hurried; and a small rivulet, as if brought there to be an 


_ emblem of passing time, glides away beneath the mossy wall, 
murmuring continually a dreamlike tune round the dwellings of 


the dead. 
9. In the quiet of the evening, my venerable friend took me with 


366 IMWGUFFEY'S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


him into the church-yard. We walked to the eastern corner, 
where, as we approached, I saw a monument standing almost 
by itself, and, even at that distance, appearing to be of a some- 
what different character from any other in ‘the burial-ground. 
And now we stood close to,-and before it. It was a low monu- 
ment of the purest white marble; simple, but perfectly elegant 


and graceful withal, and upon its unadorned slab, lay the sculp- . 


tured images of two children asleep in each other’s arms 
Around it, was a small piece of the greenest ground, without the 
protection of any rail, but obviously belonging to the monument. 
It shone, without offending them, among simpler or ruder burial- 
beds round about it; and, although the costliness of the materials, 
the affecting beauty of the design, and the delicacy of its execu- 
tion, all showed that there slept the offspring neither ef the poor 
nor low in life, yet so meekly and sadly did it lift up its unstain- 
ed little walls, and so well did its unusual elegance meet and 
blend with the character of the common tombs, that no heart 
could see it without sympathy, and without owning that it was 
a pathetic ornament of a place, filled with the ruder memorials 
of the very humblest dead. 
*} «Six years ago,” said my venerable companion, “I was an 
old man, and wished to have silence and stillesss in my house, 
that my communion with Him before whom I expected every 
day to be called, might be undisturbed. Accordingly, my 
Manse,* that used to ring with boyish glee, was now quiet; 
when a laay, elegant, graceful, beautiful, young, and a widow, 
came to my dwelling, and her soft, sweet, silver voice, told me 
that she was from England. She was the relict of an officer 
slain in war; and having heard one who had lived in my house, 
speak of his happy and innocent time there, she earnestly re- 
quested me to receive beneath my roof, her two sons. She, her- 
self, lived with the bed-ridden mother of her dead husband; and 
anxious for the growing minds of her boys, she sought to com- 
mit them, for a short time, to my care. ‘They and their mother 
soon won an old man’s heart; and I could say nothing in op- 
position to her request, but that | was upwards of three score 
and ten years. But I am living still—and that is their monu- 
ment.) ou yA 

|, We sat down, at these words, on the sloping head-stone of a 
dave: just opposite to this little, beautiful structure; and with- 
out entreaty, and as if to bring back upon his heart the delight 
af old, tender remembrances, the venerable man thus contin- 
ved. 

i The lady left them with me in, the Manse—surely the two 


Bs ETS eee ae —_—= 


* Manse, aclergyman’s house. 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 367 


most beautiful and engaging creatures that ever died in youth. 
They were twins. Like were they unto each other, as two 
bright-plumaged doves of one color, or two flowers with the 
same blossom and the same leaves. ‘They were dressed alike, 
and whatever they wore, in that did they seem more especially 
beautiful. ‘Their hair was the same, a bright auburn—their 
voices were as one—so that the twins vere inseparable in my 
love, whether I beheld them, or my dim eyes were closed. From 
the first hour they were left alone with me, and without their 
mother in the Manse, did I begin to love them; nor were they 
slow in returning an old man’s affection. ‘They stole up to my 
side, and submitted their smooth, glossy, leaning heads to my 
withered and trembling hand; nor, for a while, could I tell, as 
the sweet beings came gliding gladsomely near me, which was 
Edward, and which was Henry; and often did they, in winning 
playfulness, try to deceive my loving heart. But they could not 
defraud each other of their tenderness ; for whatever the one re- 
ceived, that was ready to be bestowed upon the other. To love 
the one more than the other was impossible. 

G* Sweet creatures! it was not long before I learned to distin- 
guish them. ‘That which seemed to me, at. first, so perfectly 
the same, soon unfolded itself with many delightful varieties, 
and then I wondered how I ever could have mistaken. them for 
one another. Different shadows played upon their hair; that 
of the one being silky and smooth, and of the other, slightly 
eurled at the edges, and clustering thickly, when he flung back 
his locks in playfulness or joy. His eyes, though of a hazel 
hue, like those of his brother, were considerably lighter, and a 
smile seemed native there; while those of the other, seemed 
almost dark, and fitter for the mist of tears. Dimples marked 
the cheeks of the one, but those of the other were paler and 
smooth. ‘Their voices too, when I listened to them, and knew 
their character, had a faint, fluctuating difference of inflection and 
tone—like the same mstrument blown upon with a somewhat 
stronger or weaker breath. ‘Their very laugh grew to be differ- 
ent to my ear; that of the one, free and more frequent, that of 
the other, mild in its utmost glee. And they had not been many 
days in the Manse, before I knew in a moment, dim as my eyes 
had long been, the soft, timid, stealing step of Edward, from the 
dancing and fearless motion of Henry Howard.” 

) Here the old man paused, not as it seemed from any fatigue 
in speaking so long, but as if to indulge more profoundly in his 
remembrance of the children whom he hed so tenderly loved. 
He fixed his dim eyes on their sculptured images, with as fond 
an expression as if they had been alive, and had lain down there 
to sleep—and when, without looking on me, whom he felt to 


368 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUID™ 


have been listening with a quiet attention, he again began to 
speak, it was partly to tell me the tale of these fair sleepers, and 
partly to give vent to his loving grief. 

&* All strangers, even many who thought they knew them well, 
were pleasantly perplexed with the faces and figures of the bright 
English twins. ‘The poor beggars, as they went their rounds, 
blessed them, without knowing whether it was Edward or Henry, 
that had bestowed his alms. Even the mother of the cottage chil- 
dren with whom they played, confused their images in her af- 
fectionate heart, as she named them in her prayers. When only 
one was present, it gave a start of strange delight to them who 
did net know the twins, to see another creature, so beautifully 
the same, come gliding in upon them, and join his brother in a 
share of their suddenly bestowed affection. 

7 «'They soon came to love, with all their hearts, the place of 
their new habitation. Not even in their own merry England, 
had their young eyes ever seen brighter green fields; trees more 
umbrageous ; or, perhaps, even rural gardens more flowery and 
blossoming, than those of this Scottish village. ‘They had lived, 
indeed, mostly in a town; and in the midst of the freshness and 
balminess of the country, they became happier and more glee- 
some—it was said, by many, even more beautiful. ‘The affec- 
tionate creatures did not forget their mother. Alternately did 
they write to her every week, and every week did one or other 
~ receive from her a letter, in which the sweetest maternal feelings 
were traced, in small, delicate lines, that bespoke the hand of an 
accomplished lady. 

| os Pheir education had not been neglected ; and they learned 
every thing they were taught with a surprising quickness and 
docility. Morning and evening too, did they kneel down with 
clasped hands—these lovely twins—even at my feet, and resting 
on my knees; and melodiously did they murmur together the 
hymns which their mother had taught them, and passages select- 
ed from the scriptures. And always, the last thing they did be- 
fore going to sleep in each other’s arms, was to look at their 
mother’s picture, and to kiss it with fond kisses, and many an 
' endearing name.” 

‘(Just then two birds alighted softly on the white marble men- 
ument, and began to trim their plumes. ‘They were doves, from 
their nests in the belfry of the spire, from which a low, deep, 
plaintive murmuring was now heard to come, deepening the pro- 
found silence of the burial-ground. The two bright birds walked 
about for a few minutes, around the image of the children, or 
stood quietly at their feet; and they, clapping their wings, flew 
up and disappeared. ‘The incident, though, at any other time, 
common and uninteresting, had a strange effect upon my heart, 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 369. 


and seemed dimly emblematic of the innocence and beauty of 
the inhabitants of the tomb, and of the flight of their innocent 
souls to heaven.— Wizson. 


LESSON CLXXVI. 


THE SAME.—CONCLUDED. 


/ “Ons evening in early autumn, (they had been with me from 
the middle of May,) Edward, the elder, complained, on going to 
bed, of a sore throat, and I proposed that his brother should 
sleep in another bed. I saw them myself, accordingly, in sepa- 
rate places of repose. But on going about an hour afterwards in- 
to their room, there I found them, locked, as usual, in each other’s 
arms—-face to face,-—and their innocent breath mingling from 
lips that nearly touched. I could not find heart to separate 
them ; nor could I have done so without awaking Edward. His 
cheeks were red and flushed, and his sleep broken and full of 
starts. 

%, Early in the morning, I was at their bed-side. Henry was 
iying apart from his brother, looking at him with tearful face, 
and his little arm laid so as to touch his bosom. Edward was 
unable to rise. His throat was painful, his pulse, high, and his 
heart, sick. Before evening he became slightly delirious, and his 
ilIness was evidently a fever of a dangerous and malignant kind. 
He was, as I told you, a bold and gladsome child; when not at 
his task, dancing and singing almost every hour; but the fever 
quickly subdued his spirit; the shivering fits made him weep 
and wail; and rueful indeed was the change which a single night 
and day had brought forth. 

© «His brother seemed to be afraid more than children usually 
are of sickness, which they are always slow to link with the 
thoughts of death. But he told me, weeping, that his eldest 
brother had died of a fever, and that his mother was always 


- 


alarmed about that disease. <‘ Did I think,” asked he, with wild | 


eyes and a palpitating heart, “did I think that Edward was go 
ing to die?”’ I looked at the affectionate child, and taking him 
tomy bosom, I felt that his own blood was beating but too quick- 
ly, and, that fatal had been that night’s sleeping embrace in his 
brother’s bosom. The fever had tainted his sweet veins also, 
and I had soon to lay him shivering on his bed. In another day, 
he too was delirious, and too plainly chasing his brother into the 


rave 
I *¢ Never in the purest hours of their healthful happiness, hac 
their innocent natures seemed to me more beautiful, than now 


rc 


370 M’GUFFEY'S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


in their delirium. As it increased, all vague fears,of dying 
left their. souls, and they kept talking as if to each other, 
of everything here or in England, that. was pleasant and 
interesting. Now and then, they murmured the names of 
persons of whom I had not formerly heard them speak— 
friends who had been kind to them, before I had known of 
their existence, and servants in their mother’s or their father’s 
household. Of their mother they spoke to themselves, although 
necessarily kept apart, almost in the very same words, expect- 
ing a visit from her at the Manse, and then putting out their little” 
hands to embrace her. Ail their little, innocent plays were acted 
over and over again, on the bed of death. ‘They were looking 
into the nests of the little singing-birds, which they never in- 
jured, in the hedge-rows, and the woods. And the last intelli- 
gible words that I heard Edward utter were these——‘ Let us go, 
brother, to the church-yard, and lie down on the daisies, among 
the little, green mounds !’ : 

5 “They both died within an hour of each other. I lifted up 
Henry, when I saw he too was dead, and laid him down beside 
his brother. ‘There lay the twins, and had their mother at that 
hour come;into the room, she would have been thankful to see 


that sight, for she would have thought that her children were in 
_a calm and-refreshing sleep 


17? 


(0 My eyes were fixed upon the sculptared images of the dead— 
lying side by side, with their faces turned.to heaven; their little 
hands folded, as in prayer, upon their bosoms, and their eyelids 
elosed. The old man drew a sigh, almost like a sob, and wept. 
They had been intrusted to his care; they had come smiling 


_ from another land; for one summer they were happy, and then 


disappeared, like fading flowers, from the earth. I wished that 
the old man would cease his touching narrative, both for his sake 
and my own. So I rose, and walked up quite close to the mon- 
ument, inspecting the spirit of its design, and marking the finish 
of its execution. But he called me to him, and requesting me to 
resume my seat beside him on the grave-stone, he thus con- 
tinued : 

y ‘| had written to their mother in England, that the children 
were in extreme danger; but it was not possible that she could 
airive in time to see them die; not even to see them buried. De- 
cay was fast preying upon them, and the beauty of death was 
heginning to disappear; so we could not wait the arrival of their 
mother, and their grave was made. Even the old, gray-headed, 
sexton wept; for in this ease of mortality, there was something 
to break in upon the ordinary tenor of his thoughts, and to stir 
up in his heart, feelings that he could not have known existed 
there. ‘There was sadness, indeed, over all the parish for the 


* 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES, 371 


fair English twms, who had, come to live in the Manse after all 
the other boys had left it; and who, as they were the last, so 
were they the loveliest of all my flock. ‘The very sound, or ac- 
cent of their southern voices, so pretty and engaging to our ears, 
in the simplicity of childhood, had won many a heart, and touch- 
ed, too, the imaginations of many with a new delight; and, there- 
fore, on the morning when they were buried, it may be said there 
was here a fast-day of grief.”’ 


va 

y «The next day their mother arrived at the Manse. She knew, 
before she came, that. her children were dead and buried. It is 
true that she wept, and, at the sight of the grave,—for they both 
Jay in one coffin,—her grief was passionate and bitter. But that 
fit soon passed away. Her tears were tears of pity for them, 
but, as for herself, she hoped that she was soon to see them in 
heaven. Her face pale, yet flushed; her eyes hollow, yet bright ; 
and a general languor and lassitude over her whole frame, all 
told that she was in the first stage of aconsumption. Soon,other 
duties called her back to England, for the short remainder of her 
life. She herself drew the design of that monument with her 
own hand, and left it with me when she went away. I soon 


heard of her death. Her husband lies near Grenada, in Spain; - 
she lies in the chancel of the cathedral of Salisbury, in England ; 


and there, sleep her twins, in the little burial-ground of Auchin- 
down, a Scottish parish.’”’— Wutson. 


LESSON CLXXVII 


THE WIDOW 


Sue said she was alone within the world: 
How could she but be sad! 
She whispered something of a lad, 
With eyes of blue, and light hair sweetly curled ; 
But the grave had the child! 
And yet his voice she heard, 
When at the lattice, calm and mild, 
The mother in the- twilight saw the vine-leaves stirred. 
‘¢ Mother,”’ it seemed to say, 
** [T love thee; 3 
When thou dost by the side of thy lone pillow pray, 
My spirit writes the words above thee ; 
Mother! I watch o’er thee—lI love thee!” 


_Where was the husband of that widowed thing, 
~ "That seraph’s earthly sire? 


es 


Bie ee 


i 


ey re ~6— 
* 


372 


WGUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


A soldier dares a soldier’s fire; 
The murderous ball brought death upon its wing ; 
Beneath a foreign sky 
He fell, in sunny Spain; 
The wife, in silence, saw him die, 
But the fond boy’s blue eyes gave drops like sunny rain. 
‘¢ Mother!” the poor lad eried, 
‘‘ He ’s dying ! 
We are close by thee, father—at thy bleeding side— 
Dost thou not hear thy Arthur crying ? 
Mother! his lips are closed—he ’s dying! ”’ 


It was a stormy time, where the man fell; 

And the youth shrunk and pined ; 
Consumption’s worm his pulse entwined— 
‘Prepare his shrowd”’ rang out the convent-bell, 

Yet through his pain he smiled, 
To soothe a parent’s grief;— 
Sad soul! she could not be beguiled ; 
She saw the bud would leave the guardian leaf! 
*‘ Mother!” he faintly said, 
“Come near me— 
Kiss me,—and let me in my father’s grave be laid— 
I’ ve prayed that I might still be near thee; 


Mother! Ill come again and cheer thee.’”-—Epwarps. 


LESSON CLXXVIII. 
MY MOTHER'S PICTURE. 


O ruart those lips had language! life has pass’d 
With me but roughly, since I heard thee last. 
My mother, when | learn’d that thou wast dead, 
Say, wast thou conscious of the tears I shed ? 
Hover’d thy spirit o’er thy sorrowing son, 
Wretch even then, life’s journey just begun? 
Perhaps thou gav’st me, though unfelt, a kiss; 
Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss: 
Ah, that maternal smile! it answers—Yes. 


I heard the bell toll’d on thy burial day; 
I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away; _ 
And, turning from my nurs’ry window, drew 
A long, long sigh, and wept a /ast adieu. 
But was it-such? It was—Where thou art gone, 
Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown. . 


. And, if this meet thee on that peaceful shore, 


The parting word shall pass my lips no more, 


nl 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 


Thy maidens, griev’d themselves at my concern, 


Oft gave me promise of thy quick return; 
What ardently I wished, I long believ’d, 
And disappointed still, was still deceiv’d; 
By expectation, every day beguiled, 

Dupe of to-morrow, even when a child. 
Thus, many a sad to-morrow came and went, 
Till, all my stock of infant sorrow spent, 

I learn’d, at last, submission to my lot; 

But, though I less deplore thee, ne’er forgot. 


My boast is not, that I declare my birth 


From loins enthroned and rulers of the earth ; 


But higher far my proud pretensions rise,— 
The son of parents pass’d into the skies. 
And now, farewell. Time unrevok’d has run 


His wonted course, yet what I wish’d is done. 
By contemplation’s help, not sought in vain, 


I seem t’ have liv’d my childhood o’er again ; 


To have renew’d the joys that once were mine, 


Without the sin of violating thine; _ 
And while the wings of fancy still are free, 
And I can view this mimic show of thee, 
Time has. but half succeeded in his theft; 


Thyself remov’d, thy power to soothe me left.—Cowprr. 
* 


LESSON CLXXIX. 
THE EVENING WIND. 


Spirit, that breathest through my lattice, thou 
That cool’st the twilight of the sultry day, 
Gratefully flows thy freshness round my brow; 
Thou hast been out upon the deep at play, 

Riding all day the wild, blue waves, till now 


Rough’ning their crests, and scattering high their spray, 


And swelling the white sail. I welcome thee 


To the scorched land, thou wanderer of the sea! 


Nor I alone —a thousand bosoms round 
Inhale thee in the fullness of delight; 

And languid forms rise up, and pulses bound 
Livelier at coming of the wind of night; 

And, languishing to hear thy grateful sound, 


Lies the vast inland, stretched beyond the sight. 


Go forth into the gathering shade; go forth, 


God’s blessing breathed upon the fainting earth! 


Go, rock the little wood-bird in his nest; - 


Curl the still waters, bright with stars, and rouse 


373 


374 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


The wide old wood from his majestic rest, 
Summoning from the innumerable boughs, 
The strange, deep harmonies that haunt his breast; 
Pleasant shall be thy way, where meekly bows 
The shutting flower, and darkling waters pass, 
© And ’twixt the o’ershadowing branches and the grass. 


The faint, old man shall lean his silver head 
To feel thee; thou shalt kiss the child asleep, 
And dry the moistened curls that overspread 
His temples, while his breathing grows more deep ; 
And they, who stand about the sick man’s bed, 
Shall joy to listen to thy distant sweep, 
And softly part his curtains, to allow 
Thy visit, grateful to his burning brow. 


Go—but the circle of eternal change, . 
That is the life of nature, shall restore, 
With sounds and seents from all thy mighty range, 
Thee to thy birth-place of the deep once more; 
Sweet odors in the sea-air, sweet and strange, 
Shall tell the home-siek mariner of the shore; 
And, list’ning to thy murmur, he shall deem 
He hears the rustling leaf, and running stream.—Bryanrt. 


Hip 


LESSON CLXXX. 


SHAKSPEARE. 


Ir has been said, by some critic, that Shakspeare was dis- 
tinguished from the other dramatic writers of his day, only by 
his wit; that they had all his other qualities but that; that one 
writer had as much sense; another, as much fancy; another, as 
much knowledge of character; another, the same depth of pas- 
sion, and another,as great power of language. ‘This statement 
is not true$ nor is the inference from it well-founded, even if 
it were. ‘This person does not seem to have been aware, that, 
upon his own showing, the great distinction of Shakspeare’s ge- 
nius was its virtually including the genius of all the great men 
of his age, and not its differing from them in one accidental par- 
ticular. 

The striking peculiarity of Shakspeare’s mind was its gene- 
ric quality ; its power of communication with all other minds— 
so that it contained a universe of thought and feeling within it- | 
self, and no one peculiar bias or exclusive excellence, more than ~~ 
another. He was just like any other man, but that he was like 
all other men. He-was the least of an egotist that it was pos- 
sible to be. He was nothing in himself, but he was all that oth- 


a 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 375 


ers were, or that they could become. He not only had in him- 
self the germs of every faculty and feeling, but he could follow 
them, by anticipation, intuitively, into all their conceivable rami- 
fications, through every change of fortune, or conflict of passion, 
or turn of thought. He had “a mind, reflecting ages past,” and 
present; all the people that ever lived are there. There was no 
respect of persons with him. His genius shone equally on the 
evil and on the good, on the wise and the foolish, the monarch 
and the beggar. ‘All corners of the earth, kings, queens, and 
states ; maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave,’’ are hardly 
hid from his searching glance. He was like the genius of hu- 
manity, changing places with all of us at pleasure, and playing 
with our purposes as with his own. 

He turned the globe round for his amusement, and surveyed 
the generations of men and the individuals as they passed, with 
their different concerns, passions, follies, vices, virtues, actions, 
and motives—as well those they knew, as those they did not 
know. or acknowledge to themselves. The dreams of childhood, 
the ravings of despair, were the toys of his fancy. Airy beings 
waited at his call and came at-his bidding. Harmless fairies 
‘‘ nodded to him and did him their courtesies ;” and the night-hag 
bestrode the blast at the command of ‘his so potent art.”’ 

He had only to speak of any thing, in order to become that 
thing, with all the circumstances belonging to it. When he con- 
ceived of a character, whether real or imaginary, he not only 
entered into all its thoughts and feelings, but seemed instantly, 
and as if by touching a secret spring, to be surrounded with all 
the same objects, “ subject to the same skyey influences,”’ the 
same local, outward, and unforeseen accidents which would occur 
in reality. . Thus, the character of Caliban not only stands be- 
fore us with a language and manners of his own, but the scenery 
and situation of the enchanted island he inhabits, the traditions 
of the place, its strange noises, its hidden recesses, “his frequent 
haunts, and ancient neighborhood,”’ are given with a miraculous 
truth of nature, and with all the familiarity of an old recollection. 
“The whole coheres semblably together,” in time, place, and 
circumstance. 

In reading this author, you do not merely learn what his char- 
acters say; you see their persons. By something expressed or 
understood, you are at no loss to decipher their peculiar physi- 
ognomy, the meaning of a look, the grouping, the by-play, as we 
might see kX on the stage. A word, an epithet, paints a whole 
scene, or throws ts back whole years in the history of the per- 
son represented. So, (as ithas beem ingeniously remarked,) when 
Prospero describes himself as being left alone in the boat with 
his daughter, the epithet which he applies to her, “Me and thy 


376 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


he 


erying self,” flings the imagination instantly back from the 
grown woman, to the helpless condition of infancy, and places 
the first and most trying scene of his misfortunes before us, with 
all that he must have suffered in the interval. 

How well the silent anguish of Macduff is conveyed to the 
reader, by the friendly expostulation of Malcolm, ** What! man, 
ne’er pull your hat upon your brows!’ Again, Hamlet, in the 
scene with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, somewhat abruptly 
concludes his fine soliloquy on life, by saying, “ Man delights 
me not, nor woman neither, though, by your smiling, you seem 
to say so ;’’ which is explained by their answer—* My lord, we 
had no such stuff in our thoughts; but we smiled to think, if you 
delight not in man, what scanty entertainment the players shall 
receive from you, whom we met on the way:”’ as if, while Ham- 
let was making this speech, his two old school-fellows from 
Wittenberg, had been really standing by, and he had seen them 
smiling by stealth, at the idea of the players crossing their minds. 
It is not ‘¢a combination and a form’”’ of words, a set-speech or 
two, a preconcerted theory of a character, that will do this; but 
all the persons concerned must. have been present in the poet’s 
imagination, as at a kind of rehearsal; and whatever would have 
passed through their minds on the occasion, and have been ob- 
served by others, passed through his, and is made known to the 
reader.—HAzLirt. 


LESSON CLXXXI. 
BUNYAN’S “PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. 


Tne characteristic peculiarity of the “ Pilgrim’s Progress ”’ 1s, 
that it is the only work of its kind which possesses a strong 
human interest. Other allegories only amuse the fancy. ‘The 
allegory of Bunyan, has been read by many thousands with tears. 
There are some good allegories in Johnson’s works, and some 
of still higher merit in Addison. In these performances, there 
is, perhaps, as much wit and ingenuity, as in the “ Pilgrim’s 
Progress.”? But the pleasure which is produced by the vision 
of Mirza: or the vision of Theodore, or the contest between 
Rest and Labor, is exactly similar to the pleasure which we de- 
rive from one of Cowley’s odes, or from a canto of Hudibras. 
It is a pleasure which helongs wholly to the understanding, and 
in which the feelings have no part whatever. 

It is not so with the « Pilgrim’s Progress.”” ‘That wonderful 
book, while it obtains admiration from che most fastidious eritics, 
is loved by those who are too simple to admire it. Doctor 


Psy 


” 


OF THE ECLECTIC SHPIES, at7 


Johnson, all whose anidiee were desultory, and who hated,a 

he said, to read books through, made an exception in favor of 
the ** Pil ’s Progress.”’ ‘That work, he said, was one of the 
two or Bias york: which he wished lgnaer’ In the wildest 
parts of Scotland, the “ Pilgrim’s Progress ”’ is the delight of the 
peasantry. In every nursery, the ‘‘ Pilgrim’s Progress” isa 
greater favorite than Jack the Giant-Killer. Every reader 
knows the straight and narrow path, as well as he knows a road 
in which he has gone backward and forward a hundred times. 


' This is the highest miracle of genius,—that things which are 


not, should be as though they were ;—that the imaginations of 
one mind, should’ become the personal recollections of another. 
And this miracle, the tinker* has wrought. 

There is no ascent, no declivity, no resting-place, no turn-stile, 
ith which we are not perfectly acquainted. The wicket-gate 


_ and the desolate swamp which separates it from the City of De- 


struction; the long line of road, as straight as a rule can make 


it; the Interpreter’s house and all its fair shows ;—all the stages 


_. of the journey, all the forms which cross or overtake the pil- 


grims, giants and hobgoblins, ill-favored ones and shining ones; 
the tall, comely, swarthy Madame Bubble, with her creat purse 
by her side, and her fingers playing with the money; the black 
man in the bright vesture; Mr. Worldly Wiseman and My 
Lord Hategood, Mr. Talkative’ and Mrs. 'Timorous,—all are 
actually existitig beings to us. . We follow the travelers through 
their allegorical progress, with interest not inferior to that with 
which we follow Elizabeth from Siberia to Moscow, or Jeanie 
Deans from Edinburgh to London. - . 

Bunyan is almost the only writer that ever gave to the abstract, 


the interest of the concrete. In the works of many celebrated 


authors, men are mere personifications. We have not.an Othel- 
lo, but jealousy ; not an Iago, but perfidy; not a Brutus, but patri- 
otism. ‘The mind of Bunyan, on the contrary, was so imagina- 


tive, that personifications, when he dealt with them, became 


men, A dialogue between two qualities, in his dream, has more 
dramatic effect than a dialogue between two human beings in 


‘most plays. 


The style of Bunyan is delightful to every reader, and invalu- 
able as a study to every person who wishes to obtain a wide 
, command over the’ English language. ‘The vocabulary is the 
“vocabular of the common people. There is not an expression, 
“if we except a few technical terms of theology, which would 
puzzle the rudest peasant. We have observed several pages 
which do not contain a single word of more than two syllables. 


* Bunyan was a tinker. 


32 


mee 


magnificence, for- pathos, i 
disquisition, for every Sutpose 


‘ £. af * C sf * 
Mgrs “RHETORICAL GUIDE 


= 
Vet no writer has said more exactly what he meant tosay. For 


n 


for vehement exhortation, for subtle 
of the poet, the orator, and the 


ees, this homely. dialect, the dialect of plain. working men, 
as perfectly sufficient. There is no book in our literature, on 
which we would so readily stake the fame of the old, unpolluted 
_English language ; no book which shows so well, how rich that 
language is, in its own proper wealth, and: how little it has been 
improved by all that it has borrowed, 


1% 
Cowper said, fifty or sixty years ago, that he dared not name 
John Bunyan in his verse, for fear of moving a sneer. 


One of these produced the “ Paradise Lost, ”? the other the * Pil- 


grim’s Progress.’’—Macavtay. 


tp 


4 


LESSON CLXXXILs 


THE GOODNESS OF GOD. 


Buess the Lord, O my soul! | 
And all that is within me, bless his holy name" 
Bless the Lord, O my soul! : 

And forget not on his benefits ; it 
Who ‘forgiveth all thine iniquitiesy, : 
Who healeth all thy diseases 5 

Who redeemeth thy life from destruction; 


_. Who satisfieth thy mouth with good things ; 
So that thy youth is renewed like the eagle’ S. 


The Lord executeth righteousness and jud pment 
For all that are oppressed. 
He made known his ways unto Moses, 
His acts unto the children of Israel. 
The Lord is merciful and gracious, 
Slow to anger, and plenteous in mercy. 
He will not always chide; : 
Neither will he keep his-anger forever. 
He has not dealt with us after our sins ; 
Nor rewarded us according to our iniquities. 
For as the: heaven is high above the earth, 


So great is his mercy toward them that fear him ;_ 


As fay as the east is from the west, 


So far hath he removed our transgression from us. 


xe 


ee 


Pd 


ss 


We live 
in better times; and we are not afraid to say, that, though, there 
were many clever men in England during the latter half of the 
seventeenth | century, there were only two great creative minds. « 


“st 


2 


Who ecrowneth thee with loving-kindness and tender metsies ; 7 


Ce 


b 


Fs 
; -? ee. . 
OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES, — 379. 
‘Sap < 
Like as a father pitieth BN dilldyenys * 
So the Lord pitieth them that fear him ; ee a 
- «For he knoweth our frame, oe ae i 
He remembereth that we are dust. a 
As for man,—his days are as grass: > a 
May #8 a flower of. the field, so he flourisheth ; ae oe 
or the wind passeth Over it, and it is gone; ee ee 


‘And the place thereof shall know it no more. 

‘But the mercy of the-Lord is from everlasting to everlasting, 
Upon them that fear him; 

And his righteousness unto children’s children,” 

‘'o such as keep his covenant, 

And to those that remember his commandments to do them. 


“- 


+, 


» The Lord hath prepared his throne in the heavens ; 
And his kingdom ruleth over all. 


» Bless the Lord, ye, his angels, that excel in strength, 


ated 


That do his commandments, hearkening unto the voice of his word ! 


Bless the Lord, all ye his hosts ! 

Ye ministers of his that do his pleasure! 

Bless the Lord, all his works, in all places of his dominion ; 
Bless the Lord, O my soul !—Ps. cir. € . 


e 


LESSON CLXXXIIL 


“= GODp SEEN IN THE PHENOMENA OF NATURE. 


» I marxep the spring as she passed along, 
With her eye of light and her lip of song 


™ While she stole in peace o’er the green earth'd breast, 


While the streams sprang out from their icy rest; 
The buds bent low to the breezes sigh, 

And their breath went forth in the scented sky; 
When the fields looked fresh in their sweet repose, 


» And the young dews slept on the new-born rose. 


a 


The scene was changed. It was Autumn’s hour; 
~ A frost had discolored the summer bower ; 

The blast wailed sad, ’midst the cankered leaves; 

The reaper stood by his*gathered sheaves ; 

The mellow pomp of the rainbow woods ° 

Was stirred by the sound of the rising floods; 

_And I knew by the cloud—by the wild wind’s strain, 

That Winter drew near, with his storms, again ! 


a. 2 ‘I stood by the ocean ; its waters rolled” 
- In their changeful beauty of sapphire and gold; 
And Day looked down with his radiant smiles, 
_Where the blue waves danced round a thousand isles ; 


aes nie * 


ay a‘ 
M’GUFFEY'S" RHETORICAL GUIDE 


' The ships went forth on the trackless: seas, 


Their white wings played i in the joyous breeze ; 


¥ 
ely prows rushed on ’midst the parted foam, 


‘While the wore was wrapped in a dream of home. o 


The mountain arose, with its lofty bro 


~ While its shadow lay sleeping in vales belo o 


The mist, like a garland of glory, lay 

Where its proud height soared in the air away ; His 
The eagle was there, on his tireless wing, 

And his shriek went up as-an offering; 

And he seemed in his sunward flight to raise 

A chant of thanksgiving—a hymn of praise ! 


IT looked on the areh of the midnight skies, 
With its blue and unsearchable mysteries ; 
The moon, ’midst an eloquent multitude 
Of unnumbered stars, her career pursued; 
A charm of sleep on the city fell; , 
All sounds lay hushed in that brooding spell ; ‘<j 
By babbling brooks were the buds at rest ; 
And the wild bird dreamed on his downy nest. 


I stood where the deepening tempest passed ; 
The strong trees groaned in the sounding blast; 
The murmuring deep with its wrecks. rolled on; 
The clouds o’ershadowed the mighty sun ; 
The low reeds bent by the streamlet’s side, 
And the hills to the thunder-peal replied ; 
The lightning burst forth on its fearful way, 
While the heavens were lit in its red array! gar. ..s 


And hath Man the power, with his pride and skill, 
To arouse all nature with storms at will? 


&. 4 
Hath he power to color the summer cloud ? 
To allay the tempest, when hills are bowed? . cs 
Can he waken the spring with her festal wreath? ‘ 
Can the sun grow dim by his lightest breath? ah? 


Will he come again, when death’s vale is trod ? . 
Who then shall dare murmur ‘* There is no God !” 


W. G. Cianx. 


Lora 


“fe 
OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES 381 
’ LESSON CLXXXIV ee 
THE NATURAL WORLD INFERIOR TO THE MORAL 
WORLD. , 


Man, the noblest. work of God in this lower world, walks 
abroad through its labyrinths of grandeur and beauty, amid 
countless manifestations of creative power and providential wis- 
dom. He acknowledges, in all that he beholds, the might that 
‘ealled them into being; the skill which perfected the harmony 
of the parts, and the benevolence which consecrated all to the 
glory of God andthe welfare of his fellow creatures. He stands 
entranced on the peak of Autna, or ‘Teneriffe, or Montserrat, 
and looks down upon the far distant.ocean, silent to his ear, and 
tranquil to. his eye, amidst the rushing of tempestuous winds, 
and the fierce conflict of stormy billows. He sits enraptured 
on the mountain summit, and beholds, as far as the eye can 
reach, a forest robe, flowing in all the varieties of graceful undu- 
lations, over declivity after declivity, as though the fabulous 
river of the skies were pouring its azure waves over all the 
_landscape. 

_ He hangs over the precipice, and gazes with awful delight on 
the savage glen, rent open as it were, by the earthquake, and 
black with lightning-shattered rocks ; its only music the echoing 
thunder, the scream of the lonely eagle, and the tumultuous 
waters of the mountain-torrent. He reclines, in pensive mood, 
on the hill-top, and sees around and beneath him, all the luxu- 
riant beauties of field and meadow, of olive yard and vineyard, 
of wandering stream and grove-encircied lake. He descends to 
the plain, and amidst waving harvests, verdant avenues, and lux- 
uriant orchards, sees between garden and grass-plat, the farm 
house, embosomed in copse-wood or ‘tall ancestral trees.”’? He 
walks through the valley fenced in by barrier cliffs, to contem- 
plate, with mild enthusiasm, its scenes.of pastoral beauty; the 
cottage and its blossomed arbor, the shepherd and his flock, the 
clumps of oaks or the solitary willow. Heenters the caverns 
buried far beneath the surface, and is struck with amazement at 
the grandeur and magnificence of a subterranean palace, hewn 
out as it were, by the power of the Genii, and decorated by the 
taste of Armida or of the Queen of the Fairies. 

Such is‘the natural world; and such, for the most part, has it 
ever been, since men began to subdue the wilderness, to scatter 
the ornaments of civilization amid the rural scenery of nature, 
and to plant the lily on the margin of the deep, the village on the 
hill-side, and martial battlements in the defiles of the mountains. 
Such has been the natural world, whether beheld by the eye of 


382 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


savage or barbarian, of the civilized or the refined. Such has 
it been, for the most part, whether contemplated by the harpers 
of Greece, the bards of Northern Europe, or the voluptuous 
minstrels of the Troubadour age. Such it was, when its beauties, 
like scattered stars, beamed on the page of classic lore; and 
such, when its *“* sunshine of picture’? poured a flood of meridian 
splendor on modern literature. Such is the natural world to the _ 
ancient and the modern, the pagan and the christian. . 

Admirable as the natural world is for its sublimity and beauty, 
who would compare it, even for an instant, with the sublimity 
and beauty of the moral world? Is not the soul, with its glori- 
ous destiny and its capacities for eternal happiness, more aw- 
ful and majestic, than the boundless Pacific or the interminable 
Andes? Is not the mind, with its thoughts that wander through 
eternity, and its wealth of intellectual power, an object of more 
intense interest, than forest, or cataract, or precipice? And the 
heart, so eloquent in the depth, purity, and pathos of its affec- 
tions,—can the richest scenery of hill and dale, can the melody 
of breeze, and brook, and bird, rival it in loveliness ? 

“The same God is the author of the invisible and visible world. 
The moral grandeur and beauty of the world of man, are equally 
the productions of his wisdom and goodness, with the fair, the 
sublime, the wonderful in the physical creation. What, indeed, 
are these, but the outward manifestations of his might, skill, and 
benevolence? What are they but a glorious volume, forever 
speaking to the eye and ear of man, in the language of sight and 
sound, the praises of its author? And what are those but im- 
ages, faint and imperfect as they are, of his own incomprehen- 
sible attributes? What are they, the soul, the mind, the heart | 
of an immortal being, but the temple of the holy Spirit; the 
dwelling-place of him whom the Heaven of Heavens cannot 
contain, who inhabiteth eternity? How then can we compare, 
even for a moment, the world of nature with the world of man? 

GRIMKE. 


LESSON CLXXXV. 
ADVANTAGES OF A WELL CULTIVATED MIND. 


How much soever a person may be engaged in pleasures, or 
encumbered with business, he will certainly have some moments 
to spare for thought and reflection. No one, who has observed 
how heavily the vacuities of time hang upon minds unfurnished 
with images, and unaccustomed to think, will be at a loss to 
make a just estimate of the advantages of possessing a copious 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 383 


stock of ideas, of which the combination may take a multiplicity 
of forms, and be varied to infinity. 

Mental occupations are a pleasing relief from bodily exertions, 
and from that perpetual hurry and wearisome attention, which, in 
most of the employments of life, must be given to objects which 
are no otherwise interesting than as they are necessary. ‘The 
mind, in an hour of leisure, obtaining a short vacation from the 
perplexing cares of this world, finds, in its own contemplations, 
a source of amusement, of solace, and of pleasure. ‘The tiresome 
attention that must be given to an infinite number of things, 
(which, singly and separately taken, are of little moment, but, 
collectively considered, form an important aggregate,) requires to 
be sometimes relaxed by thoughts and reflections of a more gen- 
eral and extensive nature, and directed to objects, of which the 
examination may open a more spacious field of exercise to the 
mind, give scope to its exertians, expand its ideas, present new 
combinations, and exhibit to the intellectual eye, images, gews 
various, sublime, or beautiful. 

The time of action will not always continue. ‘The young 
ought always to have this consideration present to their mind, 
that they must grow old, unless prematurely cut off by sickness 
or accident. ‘They ought to contemplate the certain approach 
of age and decrepitude, and consider that all temporal happiness 
is of uncertain acquisition, mixed with a variety of alloy, and in 
whatever degree attained, only of short and precarious duration. 
Every day brings some disappointment, some diminution of 
pleasure, or some prostration of hope; and every moment brings 
us nearer to that period, when the present scenes shall recede 
from view, and future prospects cannot be formed. . 

‘This consideration displays, in’a very interesting point of 
view, the beneficial effects of furnishing the mind with a stock 
of ideas that may amuse it in leisure, accompany it in solitude, 
dispel the gloom of melancholy, lighten the pressure of misfor- 
tune, dissipate the vexation arising from baffled projects, of dis- 
appointed hopes, and relieve the tedium of that season of life, 
when new acquisitions can no more be made, and the mind can 
no longer flatter and: delude us with its illusory hopes and pro- 
mises. E 

When life begins, like a distant landscape, gradually to disap- 
pear, the mind can receive no solace, but from its own ideas and 
reflections. Philosophy and literature, a knowledge of the works 
of God and of the laws which govern the material and intel- 
lectual world, will then furnish us with an inexhaustible source 
of the most agreeable amusements, which, if blended with the 
sustaining power of our divine religion, will render old age as 


_ happy, as youth was joyous. 


384 M’GUEFFEY’s RHETORICAL GUIDE 


The man of letter::, w}.e1 compared with one that is illiterate, 
| exhibits nearly the same contrast as that which exists between a 
; blind man, and. one that can see; and, if we consider how much 
literature enlarges the mind, and how much it multiplies, adjusts, 
rectifies, and arranges the ideas, it may well be reckoned equiva- 
lent to an additional sense. It affords pleasures which wealth 
cannot procure, and which poverty cannot entirely take away. 
‘ A well cultivated mind places: its possessor beyond the reach of — 
those trifling vexations and disquietudes, which continually harass 
and perplex those who have no resources within themselves ; 
and, in some measure, elevates him above the smiles and frowns 

of fortune. —BieLanp. . 


xe 
iy 


» te 


LESSON CLXXXVIL | & ¢ 
THE WILL. 


Characters.x—Swipes, a brewer; Curriz, a saddler; Frank Mintine- 
TON, and ’SquirrE DRawu. 


Swipes. A soper occasion, this, brother Currie. Who would have 
thought the old lady was so near her end ? 

Currie. Ah! we must all die, brother Swipes; and those who live 
longest, out live the most. 

Swipes. ‘True, true; but since we must die and leave our earthly 
possessions, it is well that the law takes such good care of us. Had 
_ © the old lady her senses when she departed ? 

Cur. Perfectly, perfectly. *’Squire Draw! told me she read every 
word of the will aloud, and never signed her name better. 
~ Swipes. Had you pith hint from the "Squire, | what disposition she 
-. «»made.of her property ? 

, Cur. Nota whisper; the Squire is as close as an under-ground 
~~ tomb: but one of the witnesses hinted to me, that she had cut off her 
graceless nephew, Frank, without a shilling. 
Swipes. Has she,. good soul, has she? You know I come in, 
» ~~ then, in right of my wife. 

Cur. And I in my own right; and this ts no doubt the reason why . 
we have been called to hear the ‘reading of the will. ’Squire Drawl 
knows how things should be done, though he is as air-tight as one 
of your beer-batrels. But here comes the young reprobate. He miust 
be present, as a matter of course, you know. [Hnter Franx Mi11- 
INGTON. ] . Your servant, young gentleman. So your benefactress has 
left you, at last. 

Swipes. It is a painful thing to part with old and good friends, 
Mr. Millington. 

Frank. It is so, sir; but I could bear her loss better, had I not so 
often been ungrateful for her kindness. She was my only friend, and 
I knew not her value. 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. $85 


Cur. Itis too late to repent, Master Millington. You will now 
have a chance to earn your own bread. 

Swipes. Aye,aye,by the sweat of your brow, as better people are 
obliged to. You would make a fine brewer’s boy, if you were not 
too old. 

Cur. Aye,or a saddler’s lackey, if held with a tight rein. 

Frank. Gentlemen, your remarks imply that my aunt has treated 
me as I deserved. 1am above your insults, and only hope you wil! 
bear your fortune as modestly, as I shall mine swbmissively. I shal 
retire. [Going: he meets "Squire Drawt. | 

Squire. Stop, stop, young man. We must have your presence. 
Good morning, gentlemen; you are early on the ground. 

Cur. I hope the ’Squire is well to-day. 

Squire. Pretty comfortable, for an invalid. 

Swipes. I trust the damp air has not affected your lungs again. 

Squire. No, I believe not. But since the heirs at law are all 
convened, I shall now proceed to open the last will and testament of 
your deceased relative, according to law. 

Swipes. [While the Squire is breaking the seal.| It is a trying 
thing, to leave all one’s possessions, ’Squire, in this manner. 

Cur. It really makes me feel melancholy, when I look round and 
see every thing but the venerable owner of these goods. Well did 
the preacher say, “all is vanity.” 

Squire. Please to be seated, gentleman. [He puts on his. specta- 
cles, and begins to read slowly.| Imprimis; whereas my nephew, 
Francis Millineton, by his disobedience and ungrateful conduct, has 
shown himself unworthy of my bounty, and incapable of managing 
my large estate, I do hereby give and bequeath all my houses, farms, 
stocks, bonds, moneys, and property, hoth personal and real, to my 
dear cousins, Samuel Swipes, of Malt-Street, brewer, and Christo- 
pher Currie, of Fly-Court, saddler.”” [The "Squire takes off his spec- 
tacles, to wipe them. | ! 

Swipes. Generous creature! Kind soul! I always loved her. 

Cur. She was good, she was kind;—and, brother Swipes, when 
we divide, I think I’ll take the mansion-house. 

Swipes. Not so fast, if you please, Mr. Currie. My wife has 
long had her eye upon that, and must have it. 

Cur. ‘There will be two words to that bargain, Mr. Swipes. And, 
besides, I ought td have the first choice. Did I not lend her a new 
chaise, every time she wished to ride? And who knows what influ- 
ence— 

Swipes. Am I not named first in her will? and did I not furnish 
her with my best small beer, for more than six months? and who 
knows— 

Frank. Gentlemen, I must leave you.. [ Going.] 

"Squire. [Putting on his spectacles very deliberately.| Pray, gen- 
tlemen, keep your seats, I have not done yet. Let me see; where 
wasI? Aye,‘* All my property, both personal and real, to my dear 
cousins, Samuel Swipes, of Malt-Street, brewer,”— 

Swipes. Yes! 

*Squire. ‘* And Christopher Currie, of Fly-Court, saddler,” 

Cur. Yes! 

33 


286 MGUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE . 


*Squire. **'To have and to hold, in Trust, for the sole and exclu- 
sive benefit of my nephew, Francis Millington, until he shall have 
attained the age of twenty-one years, by which time, I hope: he will 
have so far reformed his evil habits, as that he may safely.be intrust- 
ed with the large fortune which I hereby bequeath to him.” 

Swipes. What’s all this? ‘You don’t mean that we are hum- 
bugged? Jn trust! How does that appear? | Where is it?’ 

"Squire. 'There—in two words of as good old English as I ever . 
penned. ih . . 
~ Cur. Pretty well too, Mr. "Squire, if we must be sent for, to be 
made a laughing stock of. She shall pay for every ride she has had 
out of my chaise, 1 promise you. 

Swipes. And for every drop of my beer. Fine times! if two so- 
ber, hard-working citizens are to be brought here,-to be made the 
sport of a graceless profligate. But we will manage his property for 
him, Mr. Currie; we will make him feel that trustees are not to be 
trifled with. 

Cur. ‘That we will. 

"Squire. Not so fast, gentlemen; for the instrument is dated three 
years ago; and the young gentleman must be already of aBeae and 
able to take care of himself. Is it not so, Francis? 

Frank. It is, your worship. 

"Squire. Then, gentlemen, having attended to the breaking of the 
seal, according to law, you are released from any further trouble about 
the business.— Anonymous. 


LESSON CLXXXVII. 


THE TRAVELER AT THE SOURCE OF THE NILE. 


In sunset light, o’er Afric thrown, 
A wanderer proudly stood 
Beside the well-spring, deep and lone, © 
Of Egypt’s awful flood; 
The cradle of that mighty ‘birth, 
So long a hidden thing to earth. : 
He heard its life’s first murmuring sound, 
A low, mysterious tone; 
A music sought, but never found 
By kings and warriors gone. 
He listen’d, and his heart beat high; 
That was the song of victory ' 


The rapture of a conqueror’s mood 
Rushed burning through his frame, 
The depths of that green solitude 
Its torrents could not tame, 
Though stillness lay, with eve’s last smile, 
Round those calm fountains of the Nile. 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 387 


Night came, with stars; across his soul 
“There swept a sudden change, 
Even at the pilgrim’s glorious goals 
A shadow, dark and strange, 
Breathed from the thought, so swift to fall 
O’er triumph’s hour—and is this all? 


No more than this? What seemed it now, 
First by that spring to stand ? 

A thousand streams of lovelier flow 
Bathed his own mountain land! 

Whence, far o’er waste and ocean-track, 

Their sweet, wild voices called him back. 


They called him back to many a glade, 
His childhood’s haunt of play, 
Where, brightly through the beechen shade, 
Their .waters elaneed away 5 
They called him, with their sounding waves, 
Back to his fathers’ hills and graves. 


But, darkly mingline with the thought 
Of each familiar s scene, 
Rose up a fearful vision, fraught 
With all that lay between; 
The Arab’s lance, the desert’s gloom, 
The whirling sands, the red simoom! 


Where was the glow of power and pride? 
The spirit born to roam 3 

His weary heart within him died 
With yearnings for his home ; 

All vainly struggling to repress 

That gush of painful tenderness. 


He wept!—the stars of Afric’s heaven 
Beheld his bursting tears, 
Even on that spot where fate had given 
The meed of toiling years. - 
Oh happiness! how far we flee 
Thine own sweet paths, in search of thee! — Hermans. 


e 


LESSON CLXXXVIII. 
WHAT CONSTITUTES A STATE. 


Wuar constitutes a state ? 
Not high-raised battlements, or labored mound’, 

Thick wall, or moated-ate’ ; eo 
Not cities proud, with spires and turrets crowned’ : t a 


388 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


Not bays and broad-armed ports’, 

Where, laughing at the storm, rich navies ride’ ; 
Not starred and spangled courts’, 

Where low-born baseness wafts perfume to pride’. 


No‘—men*, high-minded men’, 

With power as far above dull brutes indued, 
In forest, brake, or den, 

As beasts excel cold rocks and brambles rude. 
Men, who their duties know, 

But know their rights ; and knowing, dare maintain 
Prevent the long-aimed blow, 

And crush the tyrant while they rend the chain : 
These‘constitute a state ; 

And sovereign law, that state’s collected will, 
O’er thrones and globes elate, 

Sits empress, crowning good, repressing ill: 
Smit by her sacred frown, _ : 

The fiend Discretion,* like a vapor, sinks, 
And e’en the all-dazzling crown 

Hides his faint rays, and at her bidding shrinks. 

Sir Wintuiam Jones 


LESSON CLXXXIX. 
ORIGIN OF PROPERTY 


In the beginning of the world, we are informed by holy writ, 
the all-bountiful Creator gave to man “dominion over all the 
earth; and over the fishes of the sea, and over the fowl of the 
air, and over every living thing that moveth upon the earth.” 
This is the only true and solid foundation of man’s dominion 
over external things, whatever airy, metaphysical notions may 
have been started by fanciful writers on this subject. ‘The earth, 
therefore, and all things therein, are the general property of man- 
kind, exclusive of other beings, from the immediate gift of the 
Creator. And, while the earth continued bare of inhabitants, it 
is reasonable to suppose, that all was in common among them, 
and that every one took from the public stock, to his own use 
such things as his immediate necessities required. 

‘These general notions of property were then sufficient to an- 
swer all the purposes of human life; and might, perhaps, still 
have answered them, had it been possible for mankind to have 
remained in a state of primeval simplicity, in which “all things 
were common to all.”? Not that this communion of goods seems 
ever to have been applicable, even in the earliest stages, to aught 


* Discretionary or arbitrary power. 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 389 


but the substance of the thing; nor could it be extended to the 
use of it. For, by the law of nature and reason, he who first 
began to use it, acquired therein, a kind of transient property, 
that lasted so long as he was using it, and no longer. Or, to 
speak with greater precision, the right of possession continued 
for the same time, only, that the act of possession lasted. 
Thus, the ground was in common, and no part of it was the 
property of any man in particular; yet, whoever was in the oc- 
cupation of any determined spot of it, for rest, for shade, or the 
like, acquired for the time, a sort of ownership, from which, it 
would have been unjust and contrary to the law of nature, to 
have driven him by force; but, the instant he quitted the use or 
occupation of it, another might seize it without injustice. ‘Thus, 
also, a vine ora tree might be said to be in common, as all men 
were equally entitled to its produce; and yet, any private individ- 
ual might gain the sole property of the fruit which he had gather- 
ed for his own repast: a doctrine well illustrated by Cicero, who 
compares the world to a great theater which is common to the 
public, and yet the place which any man has taken, is, for the 
time, his own. 

But when mankind increased in number, craft, and ambition, 
it became necessary to entertain conceptions of a more permanent 
dominion ; and to appropriate to individuals, not the immediate 
use, only, but the very substance of the thing to be used. Oth- 
erwise, innumerable tumults must have arisen, and the good order 
of the world been continually broken and disturbed, while a va- 
riety of persons were striving who should get the first occupa- 
tion of the same thing, or disputing which of them had actually 
gained it. As human life grew more and more refined, many 
conveniences were devised to render it more easy, commodi- 
ous, and agreeable; as habitations for shelter and safety, and 
raiment for warmth and decency. But no man would be at the 
trouble to provide either, so long as he had only an usufructuary 
property in them, which was to cease the instant that he quitted 
possession ;—if, as soon as he walked out of his tent or pulled 
off his garment, the next stranger who came by would have a 
right to inhabit the one and to wear the other. 

In the case of habitations, in particular, it was natural to ob- 
serve that even the brute creation, to whom every thing else was 
in common, maintained a kind of permanent property in their 
dwellings, especially for the protection of their young; that the 
birds of the air had nests, and the beasts of the fields had ecav- 
erns, the invasion of which they esteemed a very flagrant injus- 
tice, and in the preservation of which, they would sacrifice their 
lives. Hence a property was soon established in every man’s 
house and homestead; which seem to have been originally mere 


390 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


temporary huts or movable cabins, suited to-the design of 
Providence for more speedily peopling the earth, and suited to 
the wandering life of their owners, before any extensive property 
in the soil or ground was established. 

There can be no doubt. but that. movables of every kind be- 
came sooner appropriated than the permanent, substantial soil; 


partly because they were more susceptible of a long occupancy, . 


which might be continued for months together, without any sen- 
sible interruption, and at length, by usage, ripen into an estab- 
lished right; but principally, because few of them, could be fit 
for use, till improved and meliorated by the bodily labor of the 
occupant; which bodily labor, bestowed upon any subject which 
lay in common to all men, is universally allowed to give the fair- 
est and most reasonable title to any exclusive property therein. 

The article of food was a more immediate call, and therefore 
a more early consideration. Such as were not contented with 
the spontaneous product of the earth, sought for a-more solid 
refreshment in the flesh of beasts, which they obtained by hunt- 
ing. But the frequent disappointments incident to that method 
of provision, induced them to gather together such animals as 
were of a more tame and sequacious nature, and to establish a 
more permanent property in their flocks and herds, in order to 
sustain themselves in a less precarious manner, partly by the 
milk of. the dams, and partly. by the flesh of the young. 

The support of these their cattle, made the article of water also 
a very important point. And, therefore; the book of Genesis, (the 
most venerable monument of antiquity, considered merely with 


a view to history,) will furnish us with frequent instances of vi- - 


olent contentions concerning wells; the exclusive property of 
which appears to have been established in the first digger or 
occupant, even in places where the ground and herbage remained 
yet in common. ‘Thus, we find Abraham, who was but a-so- 
journer, asserting his right to a well in the country of Abime- 
lech, and exacting an oath for security, “ because he had digged 
that well.”? And fsaac, about ninety years afterwards, reclaim- 
ed this his father’s property; and, after much contention with 
the Philistines, was suffered to enjoy it in peace. 

All this while, the soil and pasture of the earth remained still 
in common as before, and open to every occupant; except, per- 
haps, in the neighborhood of towns, where the necessity of a 
solé.and exclusive property in lands, (for the sake of agricul- 
ture,) was earlier felt, and therefore more readily complied with. 
Otherwise, when the multitude of men and cattle had consumed 
every convenience on one spot of ground, it was deemed a nat- 
ural right to seize upon, and occupy such other lands, as would 
more easily supply their necessities. We have a striking exam- 


ae 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 391 


ple of this, in the history of Abraham and his nephew Lot. When 
their joint substance became.so great, that pasture and other 
conveniences grew scarce, the -natural consequence was , that a 
strife arose between their servants; so that it was no ‘longer 
practicable to dwell together. ‘This contention, Abraham thus 
endeavored to compose: ‘ Let there be no strife, I pray thee, be- 
tween me and thee. Is not the whole land before thee? Sep- 
arate thyself, | pray thee, from me. If thou wilt take the’ left 
hand, then I will go to the right; or if thou depart to the right 
hand, then I will go to the left.”” This plainly implies an aec- 
knowledged right in either, to occupy whatever ground he a 
ed, that was not pre-occupied by other tribes. “And Lot lifted 
up his eyes, and beheld all the plain of Jordan, that it was well 
watered every where, even as the garden of the Lord.. Then 
Lot chose him all the plain of Jordan, and journeyed east ; and 
Abraham dwelt in the land of Canaan.” 

As the world grew by degrees more populous, it daily became 
more difficult to find out new spots to inhabit, without encroach- 
ing upon former occupants ; and, by constantly occupying the 
same individual spot, the fruits of the earth were consumed, and 
its spontaneous products destroyed, without any provision for 
future supply or succession. It, therefore, became necessary to 
pursue some regular method of providing a constant subsist- 
ence ; and this necessity produced, or at least promoted and en- 
couraged the art of agriculture. And the art of agriculture, by 
a regular connection and consequence, introduced and establish- 
ed the idea of a more permanent property in the soil, than had 
hitherto been received and adopted. 

It was clear, that the earth would not produce her fruits in 
sufficient quantities, without the assistance of tillage; but who 
would be at the pains of tilling it,if another might watch an 
opportunity to seize upon and enjoy the product of his indus- 
try, art, and labor? Had not, therefore, a separate property in 
lands, as well as movables, been vested in some individuals, 
the world must have continued a forest, and men have been 
mere animals of prey. Whereas, now, (so graciously has prov- 
idence interwoven our duty and our happiness together,) the 
result of this very necessity has been the ennobling of the hu- 
man species, by giving it opportunities of improving its rational, 
as well as of exerting its natural faculties. 

Necessity begat property ; and, in order to insure that prop- 
erty, recourse was had to civil society, which brought along with 
it a long train of inseparable concomitants,—states, government, » 
laws, punishments, and the public exercise of religious duties. 
Thus connected together, it was found that a part only of society ~ 
was sufficient to provide, by their manual labor, for the neces- 


~~ 


392 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


sary subsistence of all; and leisure was given to others to cul- 
tivate the human mind, to invent useful arts, and * lay. the 
foundations of science. 1. Bea bie vtiiae! 


LESSON CXC 
NORTH AMERICAN INDIANS 


Nor many generations ago, where you now sit, encircled with 
all that exalts and embellishes civilized life, the rank thistle 
nodded in the wind, and the wild fox dug his hole unscared. 
Here, lived and loved another race of beings. Beneath the same 
sun that rolls over your head, the Indian hunter pursued the 
panting deer ;—gazing on the same moon that smiles for you, 
the Indian lover wooed his dusky mate. Here, the wigwam- 
blaze beamed on the tender and helpless, and the council-fire 
glared on the wise and daring. Now, they dipped their noble 
limbs in your sedgy lakes, and now, they paddled the light ca- 
noe along your rocky shores. Here, they warred ;—the echo- 
ing whoop, the bloody grapple, the defying death-song, all were 
here ; and when the tiger-strife was over, here, curled the smoke 
of peace. 

Here, too, they worshiped; and from many a dark bosom 
went up a fervent prayer to the Great Spirit. He had not written 
his laws for them on tables of stone, but he had traced them on’ 
the tables of their hearts. ‘The poor child of Nature knew not 
the God of Revelation, but the God of the universe he acknowl- 
edged in every thing around. He beheld him in the star that 
sunk in beauty behind his lonely dwelling; in the saered orb 
that flamed on him from his mid-day throne ; in the flower that 
snapped in the morning breeze ; in the lofty pine that defied a 
thousand whirlwinds ; in the timid warbler that never left its 
native grove; in the fearless eagle, whose untired pinion was 
wet in clouds ; in the worm that crawled at his feet ; and in his 
own matchless form, glowing with a spark of that light, to whose 
niysterious source he bent in humble, though blind adoration. 

And all this has passed away. Across the ocean came a 

grim bark, bearing the seeds of life and death. ‘The former 
were sown for you; the latter sprang up in the path of the sim- 
ple native. ‘Two hundred years have changed the character of 
a great continent, and blotted forever from its face, a whole, pe- 
culiar people. Art has usurped the bowers of nature, and the 
anointed children of education have been too powerful for the 
tribes of the ignorant. Here and there,a stricken few remain ; 
but how unlike their bold, untamable progenitors. ‘The Indian 


» 
y * al 
et : ae eee 


ad 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 393 


of falcon glance and lion bearing, the theme of the touching 
ballad, the hero of the pathetic tale, is gone! and his degraded 
offspring crawls upon the soil, where he walked in majesty, to 
remind ws how miserable is man, when the foot of the conquer- 
or is on his neck. e 

As a race, they have withered from the land. Their arrows 
are broken, their springs are dried up, their cabins are in the 
dust. ‘Their council-fire has long since gone out on the shore, 
and their war-cry is fast fading to the untrodden west. Slowly 
and sadly they climb the distant mountains, and read their doom 
in the setting sun. ‘They are shrinking before the mighty tide 
which is pressing them away; they must soon hear the roar of 
the last wave, which will settle over them forever. Ages hence, 
the inquisitive white man, as he stands by some growing city, 
will ponder on the structure of their disturbed remains, and 
wonder to what manner of persons they belonged. ‘They will 
live only in the songs and chronicles of their exterminators. 
Let these be faithful to their rude virtues, as men, and pay due» 
tribute to their unhappy fate, as a people-—Spracur. 


LESSON CXCI 
BATTLE OF BEAL’ AN DUINE. 


Beat’ AN Dutng, an abbreviation for Beallach an Duine, is the name of a 
pass or defile between two eminences, where the battle described in this ex- 
tract is supposed to have taken place. ‘The parties in this battle were the 
forces of James V. of Scotland, on one side, and those of Roderick Dhu, a 
rebel subject of the king, on the other. Roderick himself had been previ- 
ously taken prisoner, and was now confined. ‘The minstrel who describes 
the battle, is admitted to see his captive master, Roderick, and at his com- 
mand portrays, in this wild burst of poetry; the engagement and utter defeat 
of the rebel troops. Trosach was the name of the region in which lay the 
glen of Beal’ an Duine. Moray and Mar were the chiefs at the head of the 
king’s forces. Clan-Alpine was the name of Roderick’s clan, and the forces 
of thispartylay concealed in the glen, intending to surprise their enemies as 
they approached, but were themselves entirely defeated, as described in this 
sketch. 

‘THE minstrel came once more to view 
The eastern ridge of Ben-venue, 
For ere he parted, he would say 
‘‘ Farewell to lovely Loch-Achray.”’— 
Where shall he find in foreign land, 
So lone a lake, so sweet a strand ! 
There is no breeze upon the fern, 
No ripple on the lake, 
Upon her aerie nods the erne,* 
The deer has sought the brake; 


* Heron. 


394 


+n 


M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


The small birds will not sing aloud, 
The springing trout lies still, i 

So darkly glooms yon thunder-cloud, 

That swathes, as with a-purple shroud, 
Benledi’s distant hill. 

Is it the thunder’s solemn sound 
That mutters deep and dread ? 

Or echoes from the groaning ground 
The warrior’s measured tread ? 

Is it the lightning’s quivering glance 
That on the thicket streams ? 

Or do they flash on spear and lance, 
The sun’s retiring beams? 

I see the ‘dagger crest of Mar, 


T see the Moray’s silver star ¢ 


Wave o’er the cloud of Saxon war, 
‘That up the lake comes winding far:— 
To hero, boune* for battle-strife, 
Or bard of martial lay, 
“Twere worth ten years of peaceful life, 
One glance at their array. 


Their light-armed archers far and near, 
Surveyed the tangled ground: 

Their center ranks, with pike and spear, 
A twilight forest rOwr ed; 

Their barbed horsefWén in thes rear 
The stern battalia crowned. 

No cymbal clashed, no clarion rang, 
Still were the pipe and drum; 

Save heavy tread and armor’s clang, 
The sullen march was dumb. 


There breathed no winds their crests to shake 


Or wave their flags abroad ; 
Scarce the frail aspen seemed to quake, 
That shadowed o’er their road; 
Their vanward scouts no tidings bring, 
Can rouse no lurking foe, 
Nor spy a trace of living thing, 
Save when they stirred the ; r0e} 
The host moves like a deep sea wave, 
Where rise no rocks, its pride to brave, 
High-swelling, dark, and slow. 
The lake is passed, and now they gain 
A narrow and a broken plain, 
Before the Trosach’s rugged jaws: 
And here, the horse and spearmen pause, 
While, to explore the dangerous glen, 
Dive through the pass the archer men. 


At once, there rose so wild a yell 
Within that dark and narrow dell, 


* Equipped. 


tis 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 395 


As all the fiends from heaven that fell, 
Had pealed the banner-cry of hell! 
Forth fromthe pass, in tumult driven, 
Like chaff before the wind of heaven, 
‘ The archery appear. 
For life! for life! their flight they ply ;— 
While shriek, and shout, and battle-ery, 
And plaids and bonnets waving high, 
_ And broad-swords flashing to the sky, 
Are maddening in their rear. 
Onward they drive in dreadful race, 
' Pursuers and pursued ; 
Before that tide of flight and-chase, 
How shall it keep its rooted place, 
' _ Thesspearman’s twilight wood? ~. 
* Down! down!” cried Mar, ‘‘ your lances down! 
P Bear back both friend and foe!” 
_ _ Like reeds before the tempest’s frown, 
_ That serried grove of lances brown> , 
At once lay leveled-low ; “a 
And closely shouldering side to side, 
~The bristling ranks the onset bide. 
“We'll quell the savage mountaineer, 
: As their Tinchel* cows the game! 
They come as fleet as i 
We’ll drive them back 


Bearing before thera in their course 
The relics of the archer force, 

Like wave with crest of sparkling foam, 

Right onward did Clan-Alpine come. 

Above their tide, each broad-sword bright 

Was brandishing like gleam of light, - 
Each targe was dark below; 

And with the ocean’s mighty swing, 

When heaving to the tempest’s wing, 
They hurled them on the foe. 

I heard the lance’s shivering crash, 8 

As when the whirlwind rends the ash; 

I heard the broad-sword’s deadly clang, 

As if a hundred anvils rang; 

But Moray wheeled his rereward rank 

Of horsemen, on Clan-Alpine’s flank; 
‘¢My banner-man, advance! 

I see,”’ he cried, *‘ their columns shake :— 

Now, gallants! for your ladies’ sake, 
Upon them with the lance !”— 

The horsemen dashed among the rout 

As deer break through the broom ; 
Their steeds are stout, their swords are out, 
They soon make lightsome room. 


ro 


* A circle of hunters, who wholly surround a great space, and gradually 
narrowing, bring large numbers of deer together. 


396 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


Clan-Alpine’s best are backward borne— 
Where, where was Roderick then? 

One blast upon his bugle-horn 
Were worth a thousand men. 

And refluent through the pass of fear, 
The battle’s tide was poured ; 

Vanished the Saxon’s struggling spear, 
Vanished the mountain sword. 

As Bracklinn’s chasm, so black and steep 
Receives her roaring linn, 

As the dark caverns of the deep 
Suck the wild whirlpool in, 

So did the deep and darksome pass 

Devour the battle’s mingled mass 5 

None linger now upon the plain, 

Save those who ne’er shall fight again.—Watrer Scorr. 


LESSON CXCII 
CHARACTER OF LORD BROUGHAM’S ELOQUENCE. 


THERE sits upon the first bench on the speaker’s left, a figure 
which seems as though it had hang over the lamp of study, till 
not only all the blood of life merely, but even the energy of life 
itself had been on the very verge of extinction; and yet,upon this 
apparently helpless figure, the eyes of the whole House are 
turned. During the time that the figure is slowly uncoiling itself 
to something like a vertical zigzag of stiffly jointed lines, every 
eranny of the gallery is becoming wedged like the archstones of 
a vault, the quillmen in your rear are muttering their curses, ana 
half a dozen heedless zealots on both- sides, who were about te 
claim the floor, drop down as if the speaker had an air-gun con- 
cealed under his cloke. 

After this bustle of preparation, and amid the silence which 
follows it, Henry Brougham takes a slow and hesitating step 
towards the table, where he stands crouched together, his shoul- 
ders pulled up, his head bent forward, and his upper lip and 
nostril agitated by a tremulous motion, as though he were afraid 
to utter even a single sentence. His air and manner are very 
much like those of a field-preacher of olden times, when the pu- 
rity of religion was preserved and propagated in the wilderness. 
The tones of his voice are full and melodious; but they come 
forth slow, hesitating, and apparently with pain; so that you are 
left in doubt whether the intellectual power of the man may not 
be unable to master the subject, or his physical strength to give 
it utterance. 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. - 397 


His first sentences, or rather the first members of his senten- 
ces, (for you soon find, that with him a sentence is more extend- 
ed, both in form and in substance, than the whole oration of 
other men,) come forth cold and irresolute, and withal apparently 
wide of the subject. Each of them is, indeed, profound and satis- 
factory in itself, evidently deduced from the most chosen mate- 
rials, and containing the very essence of the subject, in exactly 
the most appropriate words. When a sufficient number of these 
propositions have been enunciated in a manner which carries the 
demonstration with it; when every auxiliary, that the range of 
human knowledge can furnish for the firm establishment of the 
ultimate conclusion, has been pressed into service; when the 
whole array of political and moral truth has been put in order; 
it moves on to a conclusion, firm as a Macedonian phalanx, and 
irresistible as a bayonet charge of the mountaineers of the North. 

One position having been carried with the appearance of weak- 
ness and irresolution, but with a reality of power and determina- 
tion which makes itself to be felt in the certainty with which it 
commands your assent, the orator rises upon it both in body and 
mind, and wins a second by a more bold and brief attack. Toa 
second, succeeds a third; to a third, a fourth; and so on, till the 
whole principle and the whole’ philosophy of the question have 
acknowledged their conqueror; till every man in the House is as 
irresistibly convinced of the truth, the abstract truth, as he is of 
his own existence ; so that if Brougham were to pause even here, 
he would be entitled to take his station as the foremost master of 
reason. 

When he has thus laid the foundation in the utmost extent of 
philosophy, the profoundest depth of reason; when he has re- 
turned to it again, applying the line and the plummet, and feeling 
with the touch of a giant to ascertain that it is secure; when he 
has bound the understandings of his auditors in cords of argu- 
ment, which they are equally indisposed and unable to break; 
he vaults upon the subdued basis, calls forth the passions from 
their inmost recesses, and overtops and shakes the gaping mem- 
bers and the echoing House. ‘That voice, which was so low and 
unpretending, now assumes the deepening roar and determined 
swell of the ocean. That form, which at the beginning seemed 
to be sinking under its own weight, now looks as if it were 
nerved with steel, strung with brass, and immortal and unchange- 
able as the truths, which in the calmer words he uttered. That 
countenance, which aforetime bore the hue and coldness of stone, 
is now animated at every point and beaming in every feature, 
as though the mighty utterance were all inadequate to the mighty 
spirit within; and those eyes, which, when he began, turned their 
blue and tranquil disks on you, as if supplicating your forbear- 


398 ' M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


ance, now shoot forth their meteor fires, till all, wpon whom they 
beam, kindle into admiration, and ‘men of all parties wish in their 
hearts, that Brougham were “one of us.”? So concludes the. 
second—the impassionate or declamatory part of the speech, 
When he has gained what you imagine to be the acme of pow- 
erful speaking; when he appears to be looking round, as if to 
see, and sneer ‘at, the adoration which he has commanded ; his 
figure sinks down and recoils itself, and his -voice falls to the 
most extraordinary whisper ever uttered by man. ‘This singu- 
lar cadence, or rather drooping down of expression, of action, 
and of voice, which Brougham possesses in greater perfection 
than any speaker I have ever heard, has a wonderful effect; and 
those low, solemn, and muttered words, which are perfectly au- 
dible, have a power in them that you cannot resist. "That crouch- 
ing together of the body is no symptom of weakness, and that 
falling of the voice is no: prelude either to fear or to humility; 
itis the bending of the wrestler, in-order that he may twine his 
antagonist irresistibly in his grasp; the crouching of the tiger, in 
order that he-may pounce with more terrible certainty on his 
prey; it is the signal, that Brougham is putting on his whole’ ar- 
mor, and about to grasp the mightiest of his weapons. ‘ 
In his argument, he has been elear and convincing; in his ap- 
peal to the passions, though somewhat haughty and hard, he has 
been successful; he is now about to set his superhuman shaft 
upon the string—he is to become dreadfil in his invective. Woe 
be to that man upon whom that eye, erewhile so calm and blue, 
glares from the mysterious concealment of those puckered brows ! 
Woe to the wight to whom those half-whispered words are a pre- 
sage of what is on the wing! In casting your eyes around the 
House, you will find more than one looking about with fearful 
apprehension, like the navigator in the Chinese seas, when he 
eyes the lurid calm in one point of the horizon, which tells him, 
that, ere the minute glass can be turned, the typhoon shall come 
in its gale of destruction from another ; you would ‘perceive one 
small. man grinning and twittering, as little birds do when within 
hearing distance of rattlesnakes, conscious of danger, yet depriv- 
ed of even the means of self-protection, and courting destruction 
with the most piteous and frantic imbecility ; you would perceive 
a slender antagonist, clutching the back of the bench, with quiv- 
ering talons, lest the coming tempest should sweep him away; 
or you would see the portly figure of the representative of the 
quorum of some fat county, delving both his fists into the cush- 
ion, fully resolved that if a man of his weight should be blown 
out of the house, he would yet secure his seat, by carrying’ it 
along with him. 
It comes—the words, which were so low and muttered, be- 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 399 


come so loud, that the speaker absolutely drowns the cneering 
of his own party; and after he has peeled some helpless offend- 
er to the bones, and tossed about his remains through all the 
modes and forms of speech, the body of the orator, bemg subdu- 
ed and beaten down by the energy of his own mind, sinks down, 
giving the house leisure to breathe, to cheer, and leaving you ut- 
lerly confounded.—ANonymows. 


LESSON CXCIT. 
THE QUARREL OF BRUTUS AND CASSIUS. 


Cassius. Tuat you have wronged me, doth appear in this 5 ; 

You have condemned and noted Lucius Pella, 

For taking bribes here of the Sardians ; 

Wherein my letters, praying on his side, 

Because I knew the man, were slighted of. 
Brutus. You wronged yourself, to write in such a case. ° 
Cas. . In such a time as this, it is not meet . 

That every nice offence should bear its comment. 

Bru. Yet let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself 
Are much condemned to have an itching palm ; = 5 ie 
To sell and mart your offices for gold 
To undeservers. : 

Cas. 1 an itching palm? ' 

You know that you are Brutus that speak this, 
Or, by the gods, this speech were dee your last 

Bru. 'The name of Cassius honors this corruption, 
And chastisement doth therefore hide its head. 

Cas. Chastisement! 

Bru. Remember March, the Ides of March remember! 
Did not great Julius bleed for justice’ sake? 
What villain touched his body, that did stab, 
And not for justice? What, shall one of us, 
That struck the foremost man in all this world, 
But for supporting robbers; shall we now 
Contaminate our fingers with base bribes? 
And sell the mighty space of our large honors, 
lor so much trash as may be grasped thus? 

I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon, 
Than such a Roman. 

Cas. Brutus, bay not me, 

Vl not endure it; you forget yourself 
To hedge me in; I am a soldier, I, 
Older in practice, abler than yourself 
To make conditions. 

Bru. Go to; you’re not, Cassius, fia 

Cas. Lam. 

Bru. I say, you are not. 


Lge 


<j 


400 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


Cas. Urge me no more, I shall forget myself; 
Have mind upon your health, tempt me no farther. 
Bru. Away, slight man! 
Cas. Is *t possible ? 
Bru.- Hear me, for I will speak. 
Must I give way and room to your rash choler? 
Shali I be frighted when a madman stares? 
Cas. O ye gods! ye gods!-.must I endure all this? 
Bru, All this taye, more ; fret, till your proud heart break ; 
Go, show your slaves how choleric you are, 
And make your bondmen tremble. Must I budge? 
Must I observe you? Must I stand and crouch 
Under your testy humor? By the gods, 
You shall digest the venom of your spleen, 
Though it do split you; for, from this day forth, 
Pil use you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter, 
When you are waspish. 
Cas. Is it come to this? 
Bru. You say you are a better soldier: 
Let it appear so; make your vaunting true, 
And it shall please me well; for mine own part, 
I shall be glad to learn of noble men. 
Cas. You wrong me every way, you wrong me, Brutus; 
J said an elder soldier, not a better: 
Did I say better? 
Bru. If you did, I care not. 
Cas. When Cesar lived, he durst not thus have moved me. 
Bru. Peace, peace; you durst not so have tempted him. 
Cas. I durst not! 
Bru. No. 
Cus. What? durst not tempt him ? 
Bru. For your life, you durst not. 
Cas. Do not presume too much upon my love; 
I may do that I shall be sorry for. 
Bru. You have done that you should be sorry for. 
There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats ; 
For I am armed so strong in honesty, 
That they pass by me as the idle wind, 
Which I respect not. I did send to you 
For certain sums of gold, which you denied me; 
For I can raise no money by vile means: 
Ye Gods! I had rather coin my heart, 
And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring 
Irom the hard hands of peasants their vile trash, 
By any indirection. I did send 
‘To you for gold to pay my legions, 
Which you denied me: was that done like Cassius? 
Should { have answered Caius Cassius so? 
When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous, 
To lock such rascal counters from his friends. 
Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts, 
Dash him to pieces! 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 401 


Cas. I denied you not. 

Bru. You did. i 

Cas. I did not:—he was but a foo 
That brought my answer back. Brutus hath rived my heart ; 
A friend should bear his friend’s infirmities, 

But Brutus makes mine greater than they are. 

Bru. Ido not, till you practice them on me. 

Cas. You love me not. 

Bru. Ido not like your faults. 

Cas. A friendly eye could never see such faults. 

ru. A flatterer’s eye would not, though they do appear 
As huge as high Olympus. 

Cas. Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come, 
Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius, 
For Cassius is aweary of the world: 
Hated by one he loves; braved by his brother; 
Checked like a bondman; all his faults observed, 
Set in a note-book, learned and conned by rote, 
To cast into my teeth. O, I could weep 
My spirit from mine eyes. There is my dagger, 
And here my naked breast; within, a heart 
Dearer than Plutus’ mine, richer than gold: 
If that thou be ’st a Roman, take it forth; 
I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart: 
Strike as thou didst at Cesar; for I know, 
When thou didst hate him worst, thou lovedst him better 
Than ever thou lovedst Cassius. 

Bru. Sheathe your dagger: 
Be angry when you will, it shall have scope ; 
Do what you wiil, dishonor shall be humor. 
O Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb, 
That carries anger as the flint bears fire; 
Who, much enforced, shows a hasty spark, 
And straight is cold again. 

Cas. Hath Cassius lived 
To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus, 

When grief or blood ill-tempered vexeth him ? 

Bru. When I spoke that, | was ill-tempered too. 

Cas. Do you confess somuch? Give me your hand. | 

Bru. And.my heart too. 

Cas. O Brutus! 

Bru. What’s the matter ? 

Cas. Have you not love enough to bear with me, 
When that rash humor which my mother gave me, 
Makes me forgetful ? 

Bru. Yes, Cassius; and from henceforth, 

When you are over-earnest with your Brutus, 
He ’ll think your mother chides, and leave you so.—SHAKSPEARE. 


34 


402 M'GUFFEY'S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


ii *, LESSON CXCIV. 
BRITISH REFUGEES. 


Extract from a speech delivered in the Legislature of Virginia, in favor of 
permitting the British refugees, or those who had joined the Englisa party 
in the war of independence, to return to the United States. 

We have, Mr.Chairman, an extensive country without popu- 
lation. What can be a more obvious policy, than that this coun- 
try ought to be peopled? Peonle form the strength and consti- 
tute the wealth of a nation. [want to see our vast forests filled 
up, by some process a little more speedy than the ordinary course 
of nature. I wish to see these states rapidly ascending to that 
rank, which their natural advantages authorize ‘them to hold « among 
the nations of the earth. Cast ‘your eyes over this extensive 
country. Observe the salubrity of your climate; the variety and 
fertility of your soil; and see that soil intersected in every quar- 
ter, by bold, navigable streams, flowing to the east and to the west, 
as if the finger of heaven were marking out the course of your 
settlements, inviting you to enterprise, and pointing the way to 
wealth. 

Sir, you are destined, at some period or ether! to become a 
great agricultural and commercial people: the only question is, 
_ whether you choose to reach this point by slow gradations, and at 
some distant period—lingering on through a long and sickly mi- 
nority—subjected meanwhile to the machinations, msults, and 
oppressions of enemies foreign and domestic, without sufficient 
strength to resist and chastise them; or whether you choose 
rather to rush at once, as it were, to the full enjoyment of those 
high destinies, and be able to cope, single-handed, with the proud- 
est oppressor of the world. 

If you prefer the latter course, as I trust you do, encourage 
emigration; encourage the husbandmen, the mechanics, the mer- 
chants of the eld world to come and settle in the land of prom- 
ise. Make it the home of the skilful, the industrious, the for- 
tunate, and the happy, as well as the asylum of the distressed. 
Fill up the measure of your population as speedily as you can, 
by the means which Heaven has placed in your power; and I 
venture to prophesy there are now those living, who will see this 
favored land among the most powerful on earth; able to take 
care of herself, without resorting to that policy so dangerous, 
though sometimes unavoidable, of calling in foreign aid. Yes, 
they will see her great in arts and in arms; her golden harvests 
waving over fields of immeasurable extent ; her commerce pene- 
trating the most distant seas; and her cannon silencing the vain 
boast of those who now proudly affect to rule the waves. 

Instead of refusing permission to the refugees to return, it is 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 403 


your true policy to encourage emigration to this country, by every 
means in your power. Sir, you “must have men. You cannot 
get along without thein. ‘Those heavy forésts of timber, under 
whien your lands are groaning, must be cleared away. ‘Those 
vast riches which cover the face of your soil, as well as those 
which lie hid in its bosom, are to be developed and gathered only 
by the skill and enterprise of men. Your “tree must be w Bits 
el up into ships, to transport the productions of the soil, and 
find the best markets for them abroad. Your great want is the 
want of men; and these you must have, and will have speedily, 
if you are wise. 

Do you ask, how you are to get them? Open your doors, « sir, 
and they will come. ‘The population of the old world is full to 
overflowing. That population is ground, too, by the oppressions 
of the governments under which they live. ‘They are already 
standing on tiptoe upon their native shores, and looking to your 
coasts with’ a wishful and longing eye. They see here, a land 
blessed with natural and ‘political advantages, which are not 
equaled by those of any. other country on earth; a land, on 
which a gracious Providence hath emptied the horn of abund- 
ance; a land, over which peace hath now stretched forth her white 
wings, and where content and plenty lie down at every door. 

They see something still more attractive than this. ‘They see 
a land in which Liberty has taken up her abode; that Liberty 
whom they had considered as a fabled goddess, existing only in 
the fancies of the poets. ‘hey see her here, a real divinity ; ; her 
altars rising on every hand, throughout these. happy states ; her 
glories chanted by three millions of tongues; and the whole 
region smiling under her blessed influence. Let but this celestial 
goddess, Liberty, stretch forth her fair hand toward the people 
of the old world; tell them to come and bid them welcome; and 
you will see them pouring in from the north, from the south, 
from the east,\and from the west. Your wilderness will be elear- 
ed and settled ; your deserts will smile; your ranks will be filled ; 
and you will soon be in a condition to defy the powers of any 
adversary. 

But gentlemen object to any accession from Great Britain, 
and particularly to the return of the British refugees. Sir, I feel 
no objection to the return of those deluded people. ‘They have, 
to be sure, mistaken their own interests most wonderfully, and 
most wofully have they suffered the punishment due fo their of- 
fences. But the relations which we bear to them and to their 
native country, are now changed. Their king hath acknowledged 

our independence. ‘lhe quarrel is over. Peace hath returned, 
and found us a free people. , 
Let us have the magnanimity to lay aside our antipathies and 


404 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


prejudices, and consider the subject in a political light. They 
are an enterprising, moneyed people. ‘They will be serviceable 
in taking off the surplus produce of our lands, and supplying us 
with necessaries during the infant state of our manufactures. 
Even if they be inimical to us, in point of feeling and principle, 
I can see no objection, in a political view, to making them tributa-_ 
ry to our advantage. And as I have no prejudices to prevent my 
making use‘of them, so I have no fear of any mischief they can 
dous. Afraid of them! what, sir, shall ae, who have laid the 
proud British /2on at our feet, now be afraid of his whelps! 
Parrick Henry. 


LESSON CXCV 
THE FOURTEENTH CONGRESS. 


I wap the honor to be a member of the fourteenth Congress. It 
was an honor then. What it is now, I shall not say. It is what 
the twenty-second Congress have been pleased tomakeit. I have 
neither time, nor strength, nor ability, to speak of the legislators 
of that day, as they deserve; nor is this a fit occasion. Yet the 
coldest or most careless nature, cannot recur to such associates, 
without some touch of generous feeling, which, in quicker spirits, 
would kindle into high and almost holy enthusiasm. 

Pre-eminent, among them, was a gentleman of South Carolina,* 
now no more, the purest, the calmest, the most philosophical of 
our country’s modern statesmen :—one, no less remarkable for 
gentleness of manners and kindness of heart, than for that pas- 
sionless, unclouded intellect, which rendered him deserving of the 
praise—if ever man deserved it—of merely standing by, and let- 
ting reason argue for him: the true patriot, incapable of all selfish 
ambition, who shunned office and distinction, yet served his coun- 
try faithfully, because he loved her: he, I mean, who consecrat- 
ed, by his example, the noble precept, so entirely his own, that 
the first station in.a republic was neither to be sought after nor 
declined ; a sentiment so just and so happily expressed, that it 
continues to be repeated, because it cannot be improved. 

There was, also, a gentleman from Maryland,t whose ashes 
now slumber in your cemetery. It is not long since I stood by 
his tomb, and recalled him, as he was then, in all the pride and 
power of his genius. Among the first of his countrymen and 
contemporaries, as a jurist and statesman, first as an orator, he 
was, if not truly eloquent, the prince of rhetoricians. Nor did 
the soundness of his logic suffer any thing, by a comparison with» 


* Lowndes. t Pinckney. 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 405 


the richness and classical purity of the language, in which he co- 
piously poured forth those figurative illustrations of his argu- 
ment, which enforced, while they adorned it. But let others pro- 
nounce his eulogy. I must not. I feel as if his mighty spirit 
still haunted the scenes of its triumphs, and when I dared to 
wrong them, indignantly rebuked me. 

hese names have become historical. ‘There. were others, 
of whom it is more difficult to speak, because yet within the» 
each of praise or envy. For one who was, or aspired to be, a 
politician, it would be, prudent, perhaps wise, to avoid all mention 
of these men. ‘Their acts, their words, their thoughts, their very 
looks, have become subjects of party controversy. But he 
_ whose ambition is of a higher or lower order, has no such need 

of reserve. ‘Talent is of no party, exclusively ; nor is justice. 

Among them, but not of them, in the fearful and solitary sub- 
limity of genius, stood a gentleman from Virginia*—whom it 
were superfluous to designate; whose speeches were universally 
read; whose satire was universally feared. Upon whose accents, 
did this habitually, listless and unlistening. House hang, so fre- 
quently, with rapt attention? Whose fame was identified with 
that body for so long a period? Who wasa more dextrous de- 
bater? a riper scholar? better versed in the politics of our own 
country ? or deeper read in the history of others? Above all, 
who was more thoroughly imbued with the idiom of the English 
language! more completely master of its strength, and beauty, and 
delicacy ? or more cupable of breathing thoughts of flame, in 
words of magic, and tones of silver? 

There was, also, a son of South Carolina,f still in the service 
of the republic, then, undoubtedly, the most influential member 
of this house. With a genius eminently metaphysical, he appli- 
ed to politics his habits of analysis, abstraction, and condensation, 
and thus gave to the problems of government, something of that 
grandeur, which the higher mathematics have borrowed from as- 
tronomy. ‘The wings of his mind were rapid, but capricious, 
and there were times, when the light which flashed from them 
as they passed, glanced like a mirror in the sun, only to dazzle 
the beholder. Engrossed with his subject, careless of his words, 
his loftiest flights of eloquence were sometimes followed by col- 
loquial or provincial barbarisms. But, though often incorrect, he 
was always fascinating: Language, with him, was merely the 
scaffolding of thought, employed to raise a dome, which, like An- 
gelo’s, he suspended in the heavens. 

It is equally impossible to forget or to omit, a gentleman from 
Kentucky,{ whom party has since made the fruitful topic of un- 


* Randolph. _ +Calhoun. . t Clay. 


406 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


measured panegyric and detraction. Of sanguine temperament 
and impetuous character, his declamation was impassioned, his 
retorts acrimonious. Deficient in refinement“rather than in 
strength, his style was less elegant and correct, than animated < 
and impressive. But it swept away your feelings with it, like a 
mountain torrent, and the force of the stream left you little leisure 
to remark upon its clearness. [is estimate of human nature was, 
probably, not very high. Unhappily, it is, perhaps, more likely 
to have been lowered, than raised, by his subsequent experience. 
Yet then, and ever’since, except when that imprudence, so na 

tural to genius, prevailed over his better judgment, he adopted a 
lofty tone of sentiment, whether he spoke of measures or of men, 
of friend or adversary. On many occasions, he was noble and. 
captivating. One, I can never forget. It was the fine burst of 

indignant eloquence, with which he replied to the taunting ques- 
tion, ‘“ What have we gained by the war ?” 

Nor may I pass over in silence a representative from New 
Hampshire,* who has almost obliterated all memory of that dis- 
tinction, by the superior fame he has attained as a senator from 
Massachusetts. ‘Though then but in the bud of his political life, 
and hardly conscious, perhaps, of his own extraordinary powers, 
he gave promise of the greatness he has since. achieved. ‘TP he 
same vigor of thought; the same force of expression; the short 
sentences; the oan: eld: collected manner; the air of solemn 
dignity ; the deep, sepulchral, unimpassioned voice ; all have been 
developed only, not changed, even to the intense bitterness of 
his frigid irony. ‘The piercing coldness of his sarcasm was, in- 
deed, peculiar to him; they seemed to be emanations from. the 
spirit of the icy ocean. Nothing could be at once so novel and 
so powerful; it was frozen mercury, becoming as caustic as red 


hot 1ron.—R. H. Wipe. , 
ees LESSON CXCVI. 
ANTONY S ORATION OVER THE DEAD BODY OF 
CESAR. 


Frienps, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears ; 
I-come to bury Cesar, not to praise him. 
The evil that men do, lives after them ; 
The good is oft interred with their bones ; 
So let it be with Cesar! ‘The noble Brutus 
Hath told you, Cesar was ambitious : 


* Webster. 


ow 


ves 


+ 


. 


we # 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 407 


If it were So, it were a grievous fault, 
And grievously hath Cesar answered it. 
Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest, 
(For Brutus is an honorable man ; 
So are they all, all honorable men 5) 
Come I to speak on Cesar’s funeral. 
He was my friend, faithful and just to me; 
But Brutus says he was ambitious ; 
And Brutus is an honorable man. 
He hath brought many captives home to Rome, 
Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill: 
Did this in Cesar seem ambitious? 
When that the poor have cried, Cesar hath near ; 
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff; 
Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious ; 
And. Brutus isan honorable man. 
You all did see, that, on the Lupercal, sid 
I thrice presented him a kingly crown, 
Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition ? 
Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious, 
And sure, he is an honorable man. 
I speak not to disprove what Brutus spake, 
But here I am to speak what I do know. 
You all did love him once, not without cause ; 
What cause withholds you, then, to mourn for him? 
O judgment, thou art fled to brutish beasts, fey 
And men have lost their reason! Bear with me; 
My heart is in the coffin, there, with Cesar, 
_ And [ must pause till it come back to me. 


* * * * * * % 


But yesterday, the word of Cesar might 
“Have stood against the world; now lies he there, 
“And none so poor to do him reverence. 
O masters! if I were disposed to stir 
. Your hearts and minds to mutiny and raye, 
1 should do Brutus ° wrong, and Cassius wrong, 
Who, youvall know, are honorable men: 
1 will not do them wrong; I rather Givose , 
To wrong the dead, to wrong myself and you, ~~ 
Than I will wrong such honorable men. 
But here’s a parchment, with the seal of Cesar; 
I found it in‘his closet, ’t is his will; 
Let but the Commons hear this testament, 
_(Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read, 
And they would go and kiss dead Cesar’s wounds 
And dip their napkins in his sacred blood; 
Yea, beg a hair of him for memory, 
And, dying, mention it within their wills, 
Bequeathing it as a rich legacy, 
Unto their issue. 
One of the tif tek We ll hear the will: read it, Mark Antony. 
ll, The will, the will; we will hear Cesar’s will. 


<e i 


~ 


408 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


Ant. Have patience, gentle friends, I must not read it; 
It is not meet you know how Cesar loved you; 
You are not wood, you are not stones, but men ; 
And being men, hearing the will of Cesar, 
It will inflame you, it will make you mad. 
°T is good you know not that you are his heirs ; 
For if you should, O, what would come of it! 
People. Read the will ; we will hear it, Antony ; 
You shall read us the will, Cesar’s will. 
Ant. Will you be patient? will you wait awhile? 
I have o’ershot myself to tell you of it. 
I fear I wrong the honorable men 
Whose daggers have stabbed Cesar. I do fear it. 
One of the people. ‘They were traitors :—honorable men! 
All. 'The will! The testament! 
Ant. You will compel me then to read the will? 
Then make a ring about the corpse of Cesar, 
And let me show you him that made the will. 
[He comes down from the pulpit. 
If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. 
You all do know this mantle: I remember 
The first time ever Cesar put it on; 
*T was on a summer’s evening, in his tent, 
That day he overcame the Nervii; 
Look! in this place, ran Cassius’ dagger through; 
See, what a rent the envious Casca made; 
Through this, the well-beloved Brutus stabbed ; 
And,as he plucked his cursed steel away, 
Mark how the blood of Cesar followed it. 


* * * * % * 


This was the most unkindest cut of all; 
For, when the noble Cesar saw him stab, 
Tngratitude, more strong than traitors’ arms, 
Quite vanquished him; “then burst his mighty heart; 
And,in his mantle, mufiling up his face, 
ihe Great: Cesar fell, 
Oh, what a fall was there, my countrymen ! 
Then I, and you, and all of us fell down, 
Whilst bloody treason flourished over us. 
Oh, now you weep; and I perceive you feel 
The dint of pity: These are gracious drops. 
Kind souls! what, weep you, when you but behold 
Our Cesar’s vesture wounded? Look you here, 
Here is himself, marred,as you sée, by traitors. 
Ist Citizen. O piteous spectacle : 
2d Cit. O noble Cesar! 
3d Cit.. We will be revenged! Revenge! about,—seek,— 
burn,—fire,—kill,—slay !—let not a traitor live. 
Ant. Stay, countrymen. 
Ist Cit. Peace there :—hear the noble Antony. 
2d Cit. We'll hear him, we’ll follow him, we’ll die with him 
Ant. Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES, 


To such a sudden flood of mutiny. 

They that have done this deed-are honorable ; 

What private griefs they have, alas, I know not, 
That made them do it; they are wise and honorable, 
And will, no doubt, with reason answer you. 

I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts ; 

I am no orator, as Brutus is; 

But,as you know me all, a plain, blunt man, 

That loves my friend ; and that they know full well 
That gave me public leave to speak of him. 

For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, 

- Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, 

To stir men’s blood: I only speak right on: 

I tell you that which you yourselves do know; 
Show you sweet Cesar’s wounds, poor, poor,dumb mouths, 
And bid them speak for me. But were I Brutus, 
And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony 


In every wound of Cesar, that should move 
The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny.—SHAKSPEARE, 


LESSON CXCVII. 
THE STORM AT SEA, 


Tue evening winds shrieked wildly: the dark cloud 
Rested upon the horizon’s hem, and grew 
Mightier, and mightier, flinging its black arch 
Around the troubled offing, till it grasped . 

Within its terrible embrace, the all ‘ 
That eye could see of ocean. There arose, 
Forth from the infinite of waters, sounds 
Confused—appalling ; from the dread lee-shore 
‘There came a heavier swell, a lenothened roar, 
Hach moment deeper, rolling on the ear 
With most portentous voice. Rock howled to rock, 
Headland to headland, as the Atlantic flung 
Its billows shoreward; and the feathery foam 
Of twice ten thousand broken surges, sailed 
High o’er the dim-seen land. The startled gull, 
With scream prophetic, sought his savage cliff, 
And e’en the bird that loves to sail between 
The ridges of the sea, with hurried wing, 
Flew from the blast’s fierce onset. 
One—far off,— 

One hapless ship was seen upon the deep, 
Breasting the western waters. Nothing lived 
Around her; all was desert; for the storm 
Had made old ocean’s realm a solitude, 

35 


- 


409 


Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue rs 


410 


M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


Where man might fear to roam. And there she sat, 
A.lonely thing amid the gathering strife, — 
With pinions folded—not for rest,—prepared 
To strugele with the tempest. 

And it came, 
As night abruptly closed; nor moon nor star 
Looked from the sky, but darkness deep as that 
Which reigned over the primeval chaos, wrapped 
That fated bark, save when the lightning hissed 
Along the bursting billow. Ocean howled 
To the high thunder, and the thunder spoke 
To the rebellious oeean, with a voice 
So terrible, that all the rush and roar 
Of waves were but as the meek lapse of rills, 
To that deep, everlasting peal, which comes 
From thee, Niagara, wild flinging o’er 
Thy steep, the waters of a world. Anon, 


The lightnings glared more fiercely, burning round 


The glowing offing, with unwented stay, 
As if they lingered o’er the dark abyss, 
And raised its vail of horror, but to show 


Its wild and tortured face. - And then, the winds 


Held oft a momentary pause, 
As spent with their own fury ; but they came 
Again with added power—with shriek and cry, 
Almost unearthly, as if on their wings, 
Passed by the spirit of the storm. 

They heard, 
Who rode the midnight mountain-wave; the voice 
Of death was in that cry unearthly. Oft, 
In the red battle had they seen him stride 
The glowing deck, scattering his burning hail, 
And breathing liquid flame, until the winds— 
The very winds grew faint, and on the wave 
Rested the column’d smokes ; but on that night 
He came with tenfold terrors; with a power 
That shook at once heaven—earth ; his ministers 
Of vengeance round him-the great wind, the sea, 
The thunder,and the fatal flash! Alas! 
Day dawned not on the mariner ; ere morn, 
The lightning lit the seaman to his grave, 
And the fierce sea-dog feasted on the dead !——-Carnineron. 


Y 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. All 


- LESSON CXCVHIL. 


SCALE OF ANIMAL EXISTENCE. 


‘is 


» Tuoveu there is a great deal of pleasure in contemplating the 
material world, by which | mean that system of bodies, into 
which nature has so curiously wrought the mass of dead. matter, 
with the several relations which those bodies bear to one another ; 
there is still, methinks, something more wonderful and surprising 
in contemplations on the world of life, by which I mean all thoge 

_» animals with which every part of the universe is furnished. The 

material world is only the shell of the universe: the world of life 
are its inhabitants. 

If we consider those parts of the material world which lie the 
nearest to us, and are therefore subject to our observation and 
inquiries, it is-amazing to consider the infinity of animals with 
which it-is stocked. Every part of matter is peopled; every 
green leafiswarms with inhabitants. ‘There is scarce a single 
humor in the body of man, or of anyother animal, in which - 
our glasses do not discover myriads of living creatures. _'The 
surface of animals is also covered with other animals, which are 
in the same manner the basis of other animals, that live upon 
it; nay, we find in the most-solid bodies, as in marble itself, in- 
numerable cells and cavities, that are crowded with such imper- 
ceptible inhabitants, as are too little for the naked eye to discovers 
On the other hand, if we look into the more bulky parts of na- 
ture, we see the seas, lakes, and rivers, teeming with numberless 
kinds of living creatures ; we find every mountain and marsh, 

-wilderness and wood, plentifully stocked with birds and beasts, 
and every part of matter affording proper necessaries and con- 
‘veniences for the livelihood of multitudes which inhabit it. 

The author of the « Plurality of Worlds,” draws a very good 
argument from this consideration, for the peopling of every plan- 
et: as indeed, it seems very probable, from the analogy of rea-: 

son, that if no part of matter, which we are acquainted with, lies 
waste and useless, those great bodies, which are at such a dis- 

_ tance from us, should not ‘be desert and unpeopled, but rather that 
they should be furnished with beings adapted to their respective 

. situations. 

There. are some living creatures which are raised but just 
above dead matter, as the spunge and coral. Others have an ad- 
ditional sense of hearing; others,of smell; and others,of sight. 
It is wonderful to observ e, by what a er aduat progress the world 
of life advances through a prodigious variety of species, before a 
creature is formed that is complete in all its senses; and even 

“among these, there is such a different degree of perfection in the 


412 MGUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


sense which one animal enjoys beyond what appears in another, 
that, though the senses in different animals are distinguished by 
the same common denomination, they seem almost of a different 
nature. If, after this, we look into the several perfections of cun- 
ning and sagacity, or what we generally call instinct, we find 
them -rising after the same manner, imperceptibly one above 
another, and receiving additional improvements, according to the 
species in which they are planted. ‘This progress in nature is 
so very gradual, that the most perfect of an inferior species, comes 
very near to the most imperfect of that which is immediately 
above it.” ‘The whole chasm-of nature, from a plant to a man, is » 
filled up with divers kinds of creatures, rising one over another, 
by such a gentle and easy ascent, that, the little transitions and de- 
viations from one species to another, are almost insensible. ‘This 
intermediate space is so well husbanded and managed, that. there 
is scarce a degree of perception, which does not appear in some 
one part of the world of life. Is the goodness, or wisdom of the 
Divine Being, more manifested in this, his proceeding ? 

There is“a consequence, besides those I have already mention- 
ed, which seems very naturally deducible from the foregoing con- 
siderations. If the scale of being rises, by such a regular pro- 
gress, so high as man, we may, by a parity of reason, suppose 
that it still proceeds gradually through those beings which are of 
a superior nature to him; since there is an infinitely greater 
‘space for different degrees of perfection between the Supreme 
Being and man, than between man and the most. despicable 
insect. ‘Ihe evidence of this variety of beings above, as well as 
below us, is ingeniously carried out by Mr. Locke, in-the follow- 
ing extract. 

“'That there should be more. species of. intelligent creatures 
above us, than there are of sensible and material: below us, is 
probable to me from henee; that in all the visible corporeal world, 
we see no chasms, or no gaps. All, quite down from us, the de- 
scent is by easy steps, and a continued series of things, that in 
each remove, differ very little, one from the other. ‘There are 
fishes that have wings, and are not strangers to the airy region; 
and there are some birds that are cAlrabitanits of the water, whose 
blood is as cold as that of fishes, and their flesh so like im taste, 
that the scrupulous are allowed them on fish days. 

“ There are animals so near of kin both to birds and beasts, 
that they are in the middle between both ; amphibious animals 
link the terrestrial and aquatic together; seals live on land and at ” 
sea, and porpoises have the warm blood and entrails of a hog. 
There are some brutes that seem to have as much knowledge and 
reason, as some that are called men; and the animal and vegé- 
table kingdoms are so nearly joined, that if you will take the low-” 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. °* 413 


estof one, and the highest of the other, there will scarce be per- 
ceived any great difference between them; and so on, till we 
come to the lowest and the most inorganical parts of matter, we 
shall find, everywhere, that the several species are linked to- 
gether, and differ but in almost insensible degrees. 

«¢ And when we consider the infinite power and wisdom of the 
maker, we have reason to think that it is suitable to the magnifi-. 
cent harmony of the universe, and the great design and’ infinite - 
goodness of the architect, that the species of creatures should also, 
by gentle degrees, ascend upward from us, toward his infinite 
perfection, as we.see they gradually descend from us downward: 
and, if this be probable, we have reason, then, to be persuaded, 
that there are far more species of creatures above us, than there 
are beneath; we being in degrees of perfection much more re- 
mote from the infinite being of God, than we are frem the lowest 
state of being, and that which approaches nearest to nothing. 
And yet of all those distinct species, we have no. clear, distinct 
ideas.”’ : 

In this system of being, there is no creature so FOR er in 
its nature, and which so much deserves our particular attention, 
as man, who fills up the middle space between the animal and 
intellectual nature, the visible and invisible world. ‘So that he, 
who in one respect is associated with angels and archangels, and 
who may look upon a being of infinite perfection as his father, and 
the highest order of spirits as his brethren, may, in another re: 
spect, say to corruption, Zhou art my father, and to the worm, 
Thou art my mother and my sister.—SPeEctTator. 


LESSON CXCIX. 


GOD SEEN IN ALL THINGS. 


Tuou art, O God! the life and light 
Of all this wondrous world we see ; 
{ts glow by day, its smile by night, 
Are but reflections caught from thee. 
Where’er we turn, thy glories shine, 
And all things fair and bright are thine. 


When day, with farewell beam, delays 
Among the golden clouds of even, 
And we can almost think we gaze 
Through opening vistas into heaven ; ~ 
Those hues that make the sun’s decline 
So soft, so radiant, Lord! are thine. 


414 MWGUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


When night, with wings of starry gloom, 
O’ershadows all the earth and skies, 

Like some dark, beauteous bird, whose plume 
Is sparkling with unnumbered dyes; 

That sacred.gloom, those fires divine, 

So grand, so countless, Lord! are thine. 


When youthful spring around us breathes, 
Thy spirit warms her fragrant sigh ; 
And every flower,that summer wreathes, 
Is born beneath thy kindling eye. 
Where’er we turn, thy glories. shine, 
And all things fair and bright are thine. ri Siete 


LESSON CC 


RESOLUTION OF RUTH. 


‘‘And Ruth said, Entreat me not to leave thee, or to return from follow- 
ing after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go: and where thou lodgest, I 
will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God: where 
thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried: the Lord do so to me and 
more also, if aught but death part thee and me,’ 


Farewetu? O no! it may not be; 
My firm resolve is heard on high: 

I will not breathe farewell to thee, 
Save only in my dying sigh. 

I know not, that I now could bear 
Forever from thy side to part, 

- And live without a friend to share 

The treasured sadness of my hee. 


I did not love, in former years, 
To leave thee solitary: now, 
When sorrow dims thine eyes with tears, 
And shades the beauty of thy brow, 
Tl share the trial and the pain; 
And strong the furnace fires must be, 
To melt away the willing chain 
That binds a daughter’s heart to thee. 


T will not boast a martyr’s might, 
To leave my home without a sigh ; 
The dwelling of my past delight, 
The shelter where I hoped to die. 
In such a duty, such an hour, 
The weak are strong, the timid, brave, 
For love puts on an angel’s power, 
And faith grows mightier than the grave. 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. % 415 


It was not so,ere he we loved, 
And vainly strove with Heaven to save, — 
Heard the low call of death, and moved 
With holy calmness to the grave, _ : 
Just at that brightest hour of youth 
When life, spread out, before us lay, 
And charmed us with its tones of truth, 
And colors radiant as the day. 


When morning’s tears of joy were shed, 
_ Or nature’s evening incense rose, 
_ We thought upon the grave with dread, 
And shuddered at its dark repose. 
But all is altered now: of death 
The morning echoessweetly speak, « 
And like my loved one’s dying breath, Sig 
The evening breezes fan my cheek. ‘ 


For rays of heaven, serenely bright, 
Have gilt the caverns of the tomb ; : 
And I can ponder with delight, e 
On all its gathering thoughts of gloom 
Then, mother, let us haste away 
To that blessed land to Israel given, 
Where faith, unsaddened by decay, 
Dwells nearest to its native heaven. 


We’ll stand within the temple’s bound, ~ 
~ In courts by kings and prophets trod; =» © 
We’ll bless, with tears, the sacred ground, 

And there be earnest with our God, 
Where peace and praise forever reign, 

And glorious anthems duly flow, 
Till seraphs learn to catch the strain 

Of heaven’s devotions, here below 


But where thou goest, I will go; 
With thine, my earthly lot is cast; 
In pain and pleasure, joy and wo, 
Will I attend thee to the last, 
That hour shall find me by thy side; 4, 
And where thy grave is, mine shall be; 
Death can but for a time divide 
My firm and faithful heart from thee.—Curist. EXAMINER. 


416 M'GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


LESSON CCl. 
LAMENT FOR THE DEAD. 


Reyno. Tue wind and rain are over; calm is the noon of day. 
‘The clouds are divided in heaven; over the green hill flies the incon- 
stant sun; red, through the stony vale, comes down the stream of the 
hill. Sweet are thy murmurs, O stream! But more sweet is the 
voice I hear. It is the voice of Alpin, the sen of song, mourning for 
the dead. Bent is his head of age, and red his tearful eye. Alpin, 
thou son of song, why alone on the silent hill? Why complainest 
thou as a blast in the wood, as a wave on the Jonely shore ? 

Alpin. My tears, O Reyno! are for the-dead; my voice for the in- 
habitants of the grave. Tall thou art on the hill; fair among the 
sons of the plain. But thou shalt fall like Morar; and the mourners: 
shall sit on thy tomb. The hills shall know thee no more, thy bow 
shall lie in the halls, unstrung. 

Thou wert swift, O Morar! as a roé.on the hill; terrible as a me- 
teor of fire. Thy wrath was as the storm; thy sword in battle, as 
lightning in the field. ‘Thy voice was like a stream after rain; like 
thunder, on distant hills. Many fell by thy arm; they were consum- 
ed in the flames of thy wrath. . But when thou didst return from war, 
how peaceful was thy brow! Thy face was like the sun, after rain; — 
like the moon, in the silence of night; calm as the breast of the lake, 
when the loud wind is hushed into repose. Narrow is thy dwelling, 
now; dark the place of thine abode. With three steps, I compass 
thy grave, O thou, who wast so great before! Four stones, with their 
heads of moss, are the only memorial of thee. A tree with scarce-a 
leaf, long grass whistling in the wind, mark to the hunter’s eye, the 
grave of mighty Morar. 

Morar! thou art low indeed: thou hast no mother to mourn thee ; 
no maid with her tears of love. Dead is she that brought thee forth ; 
fallen is the daughter of Morglan. Who, on his staff, is this? Who 
this, whose head is white with age, whose eyes are galled with tears, 
who quakes at every step? Itis thy father, O Morar! the father of 
no son but thee. Weep, thou father of Morar, weep; but thy son 
heareth thee not. Deep is the sleep of the dead, low their pillow of 
dust. No more shall he hear thy voice, no more awake at thy call. 
When shall it be morn in the grave, to bid the slumberer awake? 
Farewell, thou bravest of men; thou conqueror of the field; but the 
field shall see thee no more, nor the gloomy wood be lightened by the 
splendor of thy steel. ‘Thou hast left no son,—but tae song shal] 

reserve thy name.—Ossian. 


* 
OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. Pi 417 


LESSON CCI. 
A REPUBLIC OF PRAIRIE DOGS. | 


On returning from our excursion, I learned that a burrow, or 
village, as it is termed, of prairie-dogs had been discovered upon 
the level summit of a hill, about a mile from the camp. Having 
heard much of the habits and peculiarities of these little animals, 
I determined to pay a visit to the community. ‘The prairie-dog 
is, in fact, one of the curiosities of the Far West, about which 
travelers delight to tell marvelous tales, endowing him, at times, 
with something of the political and social habits of a rational 
being, and giving him systems of civil government and domestic 
economy, almost ia to what they used to bestow upon the 
beaver. 

The prairie-dog is an animal of the cony tind about the size 
of-a rabbit. He is of a very sprightly, mercurial nature; quick, 
sensitive, and somewhat petulant. He is very gregarious, living 
in large communities, sometimes of several acres in extent, 
where innumerable little heaps of earth, show the entrances to 
the subterranean cells of the inhabitants, and the well-beaten 
tracks, like lanes and streets, show their mobility and restless- 
ness. According to the accounts given. of them, they would 
seem to be continually fullof sport, business, and public affairs ; 
whisking about hither and thither, as if on gossiping visits to each 
other’s houses, or congregating in the cool of the evening, or after 
a shower, and gamboling together in the open air. Sometimes, 
especially when the moon shines, they pass half the night in rev- 
elry, barking or yelping with short, quick, yet weak tones, like 
those of very young puppies. While in the height of their play- 
fulness and clamor, however, should there be the least alarm, they 
all vanish into their cells in an instant, and the village remains 
blank and silent. In case they are hard pressed by their pursu- 
ers, without any hope of escape, they will assume a. pugnacious 
air, and a most whimsical look of Sate wrath and defiance. 

Such are a few of the particulars that I could gather about the 
habits of this little inhabitant of the prairies, who, with his’ pig- 
my republic, appears to be a subject of much whimsical specula- 
tion and burlesque remarks, among the hunters of the Far West. 

It was towards evening that I set out, with a companion, to 
visit the village in question. Unluckily, it had been invaded in 
the course of the day by some of the rangers, who had shot two 
or three of its inhabitants, and thrown the whole sensitive com- 
munity into confusion. As we approached, we could perceive 
numbers of the inhabitants seated at the entrance of their cells. 


ee 


‘Te com>, ile" tli ete — a —§ a ds all le 


418 M’GUFFEY'S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


while sentinels seemed to have been posted on the out-skirts, to 
keep a look out. At sight of us, the picket-guards scampered 
in and gave the alarm ; whereupon, every inhabitant gave a short 
yelp or bark, and dived into his hole, his heels twinkling in the 
air, as if he had thrown a somerset. 

We traversed the whole village, or republic, which covered an 
area of about thirty acres; but not a whisker of an inhabitant - 


‘was to be seen. We probed their cells as far as the ramrods of 


our rifles would reach, but in vain. Moving quietly to a little 
distance, we lay down upon the ground, and watched for a long 
time, silent and motionless. By and by, a cautious old burgher 
would slowly put forth the end of his nose, but instantly draw it 
in again. Another, at a greater distance, would emerge entirely 5 
but, catching a glance of us, would throw a somerset and plunge 
back again into his hole. At length,some who resided on the op- 
posite side of the village, taking courage from the continued still- 
ness, would steal forth, and hurry off to a distant hole, the resi- 
dence, possibly, of some family connection or gossiping friend, 
about whose safety they were solicitous, or with whom they 
wished to compare notes about the late occurrences. Others, 
still more bold, assembled in little knots in the streets and public 
places, as if to discuss the recent outrages offered to the common- 
wealth, and the atrocious murders of their fellow burghers. 

We rose from the ground, and moved forward to take a nearer 
view of these public proceedings, when, yelp! yelp! yelp!— 
there was a shrill alarm passed from mouth to mouth; the meet- 
ing suddenly dispersed ; feet twinkled in the air in every direct- 
ion, and, in an instant, all had vanished into the earth. 

The dusk of the evening put an end to our observations, but 
the train of whunsical comparisons produced in my brain, by the 
moral attributes which I had heard given to these little, politic an- 
imals, still continued after my return to camp; and, late m the 
night, as I lay awake after all the camp was asleep, and heard, in 
the stillness of the hour, a faint clamor of shrill voices from the 
distant village, I could not help picturing to myself the inhabit- 
ants gathered together in noisy assembly and windy debate, to 
devise plans for the public safety, and to vindicate the invaded 
rights and insulted dignity of the republic.—W. Irvine. 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 419 


LESSON CCIII. 
PRINCE HENRY AND FALSTAFF. 


Prince Henry and Pons, in a back room, in a tavern. Enter 
Faustarr, GapsnitL, Barpoiry, and Peto. 


Poins. Wetcome, Jack. Where hast thou been? 

Falstaff. A plague of all cowards, I say, and a vengeance too! mar- 
ry and amen! Give mea cup of sack, boy. Ere I lead this life long, 
I’ll sew nether-socks,* and mend them, and foot them too. <A plague 
of all cowards! Give mea cup of sack, rogue. Is there no virtue 
extant? [He drinks, and then continues.}|_ You rogue, here’s lime in 
this sack : there’s nothing but roguery to be found in villainous man: 
_yet a coward is worse than a cup of sack, with lime in it ;—a villain- 
ous coward. Go thy ways, old Jack; die when thou wilt: if man- 
hood, good manhood, be not forgot upon the face of the earth, then 
am I a shotten herring. ‘There live not three good men unhanged, in 
England ; and one of them is fat and grows old; a bad world, [ say! 
I would I were a weaver; I could sing psalms, or any thing; a plague 
of all cowards, I say still. 

Prince Henry. How now, wool-sack ? what mutter you? 

Fal. 'Thou art a king’s son. Now, if I do not beat thee out of thy 
kingdom with a dagger of lath, and drive all thy subjects afore thee, 
like a flock of wild geese, I’ll never wear hair on my face more. You, 
prince of Wales ! 

P. Henry. Why, you base-born dog! what’s the matter ? 

Fal. Are you not a coward ? answer me to that; and Poins there? 

_Poins. Ye fat paunch, an ye call me coward, I'll stab thee. 

Fal. Icall thee coward? Tl see thee gibbeted, ere I call thee 
coward: but I would give a thousand pounds I could run as fast as 
thou canst. You are straight enough in the shoulders, you care not 
who sees your back: call you that backing of your friends? A 
plague upon such backing! Give me them that will face me. Give 
me acup of sack. Iam a rogue, if 1 have drunk to-day. 

P. Henry. O villain! thy lips are scarce wiped, since thou 
drank’st last. | 

Fal. All’s one for that. A plague of all cowards, still say I. 

[ He drinks. 

P. Henry. What's the matter ? 

Fal. What’s the matter! There be four of us here have ta’en a 
thousand pounds this morning. 

P. Henry. Where is it, Jack? where is it? 

Fal. Where is it? taken from us it is; a hundred upon poor four 
of us. ; 

P. Henry. What! a hundred, man? 

Fal. Llama rogue, if I were not at half sword with a dozen of 
them, for two hours together. I have’scaped by miracle. Iam eight 
times thrust through the doublet; four, through the hose ; my buckler 
cut through and through; my sword hacked like a hand-saw,—look 
here: [shows his sword.] I never dealt better since I was a man; all 


* Boots. 


420 M'GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


would not dv. A plague of all cowards! Let them speak; [pozni- 
ing to GaDsHILL, BarpoiPH, and Pero} if they speak more or r- leas 
than truth, they are villains and the sons of darkness. 

P. Henry. Speak, sirs; how was.it ? - a 

Gadshill. .We four, sat upon some dozen— f 

Fal, _ Sixteen, at least, my lord. 

Gad. And bound them. 

Peto. No, no, they were not bound. 

Fal. You rogue, they were bound, every man of them; or I am 
a Jew, else—an Kbrew Jew. 

Gad. As we were sharing, some six or seven fresh men set upon 
us— 

Fal. And unbound the rest; and then come in the other. 

P. Henry. What! fought ye with them all ? 

Fal. Ail? I know not what ye call all; but if I fought not with 
fifty of them, I am a bunch of radish: if there were not two or three 
and fifty upon poor old Jack, then I am no two legged creature. 

Poins. Pray heaven, you have not murdered some of them. 

_ al. Nay, that’s past praying for; for I have peppered two of 
them ; two I am sure I have paid; two rogues in buckram suits. I 
tell thee what, Hal—if I tell thee a lie, spit in my face, and call me 
a horse. Thou knowest my old ward; [He druws his sword, and 
stands as if about to fight,| here I lay, and thus I bore my point. Four 
rogues in buckram let drive at me— 

P. Henry. What! four? thou saidst but two even now. 

Fal. Four, Hal; I told thee four. 

Poins. Aye, aye, he said four. 

Fal. These four came all a-front, and mainly thrust at me. ~ I 
made no more ado, but took all their seven points on my target, thus. 

P. Henry. Seven? Why, there were but four, even now. 

. Fal. In buekram? 

Poins. Aye, four in buckram suits. 

Ful. Seven, by these hilts, or | am a villain else. 

P. Henry. Pr’ythee, let him alone, we shall have more anon. 

Fal. Dost thou hear me, Hal? 

P. Henry. Aye and mark thee, too, Jack. 

Fal. Do so, for it is worth the listening to. These nine men in 
buckram, that I told thee of 

P. Henry. So, two more already. 

fal. Their points being broken, began to give me ground; but I 
followed me close, came in foot and hand; and,with a thought, seven 
of>the eleven I paid. 

P. Henry. ©, monstrous! eleven buckram men grown out of two! 

Ful. But three knaves, in Kendal green, came at my back, and 
let drive at me;—for it w as so dark, Hal, that thou could’st not see 
thy hand. 

P. Henry. These lies are like the father of them; gross as a 
mountain, open, palpable. Why, thou clay-brained, thou knotty- 
pared fool; thou greasy tallow-keech 
ce Fol. What! art thou mad? art thou mad? is not the truth the 

‘truth? 
P. Henry. Why, how could’st thou know these men in Kendal 


“ay 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES, 421 


green, when it was so dark thou could’st not see thy hand? Come, 
tell us your reason ;—what say’st thou to this ? 

Poins. Come, your reason, Jack; your reason. 

Fal, What, upon compulsion? 'N o, were I at the strappado, or 
all the racks in the world, I would not tell you on compulsion. Give 
you a reason on compulsion ? If reasons were as plenty as black- 
berries, | would give no man a reason on compulsion. 

P. Henry. 17\1 no longer be guilty of this sin: this sanguine cow- 
ard, this bed-presser, this horse-back-breaker, this huge hill of 
flesh 

Fal. Away! you starveling, you eel-skin, you dried neat’s tongue, 
you stock-fish—O for breath to utter what is like thee !—you tailor’s 
yard, you sheath, you bow-case, you 

P. Henry. Well, breathe awhile, and then to ’t again; and when 
thou hast tired thyself i in base comparisons, hear me speak but this. 

Poins. Mark, Jack. 

P. Henry. We two, saw you four, set on four; you bound them, 
and were masters of their wealth. Mark now, how plain a tale shall 
put you down. ‘Then did we two, set on you four, and with a word 
out-faced you from your prize, and have it; yea, and can show it to 
you, here in the house: and, Falstaff, you carried yourself away as 
nimbly, with as quick dexterity, and roared for mercy, and still ran 
and roared, as ever I heard calf. What a slave art thou, to hack 
' thy sword as thou has done, and then say it was in fight. What 
trick, what device, what starting-hole canst thou now find out to hide 
thee from this open and apparent shame? 

Poins. Come, let’s hear, Jack. What trick hast thou now 2 2 

Fal. Why, I knew ye, as well as he that made ye. Why, hear 
ye, my masters : was it for me to kill the heir-apparent? Should I 
turn upon the true prince? Why, thou knowest, I am as valiant as 
Hercules; but beware instinct; the lion will not touch the true 
prince ; instinct is a great matter; I was a coward on instinct. I 
shall think the better of myself and thee, duriag my life; I for a val- 
iant lion, and thou for a true prince. But lads, [am glad you have 
the money. Hostess, clap to theloors. Watch to-night, pray to-mor- 
row. Gallants, lads, boys, hearts of gold; all the titles of good fel- 
lowship come to you! What, shall we be merry? Shall we havea 
play extempore ? 

P. Henry. Content;—and the argument shall be, thy running away. 

Fal. Ah! no more of that, Hal, an thou lovest me.—SHaksPEARE. 


422 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


LESSON CCIV 
COMBAT BETWEEN.A CRUSADER AND SARACEN. 


* wf x As the Knight of the Leopard fixed his eyes 
-attentively on the distant cluster of palm-trees, which arose be- 
side the well assigned for his mid-day station, it seemed to him 
as if some object was moving among them. ‘The distant form 
eparated itself from the trees which partly hid its motions, and 
advanced towards the knight with a speéd which soon showed a 
mounted horseman, whom his turban, long spear, and green 
cafian* floating in the wind, on his nearer approach, showed to 
be a Saracen cavalier. ‘In the desert,’’ saith an Eastern pro- 
verb, “‘no man meets a friend.’’ ‘The crusader was totally indif- 
ferent whether the infidel, who now approached on his gallant 
barb, as if borne on the wings of an eagle, came as friend or 
foe :—perhaps, as a vowed champion of the Cross, he might 
rather have preferred the latter. He disengaged his lance from 
his saddle, seized it with the right hand, placed it in rest, with 
its point half elevated, gathered up.the reins in the left, waked 


his horse’s mettle with the spur, and prepared to encounter the ~ 


stranger with the calm self-confidence belonging to the victor in 
' many contests. 

The Saracen came on at the speedy gallop of an Arab horse- 
man, managing his steed more by his limbs and the inflection of 
his body, than by any use of the reins, which hung loose in his 
left hand; so that he was enabled to wield the light, round buck- 
ler of the skin of the rhinoceros, ornamented with silver loops, 
which he wore on-his arm, swinging it, as if he meant to oppose 
its slender circle to the formidable thrust of the western lance. 

His own long spear was not couched, or leveled like that of his 
antagonist, but grasped by the middle with his right hand, and 
brandished at arm’s length, above his head. As the cavalier ap- 
proached his enemy, at full career, he seemed to expect that the 
Knight of the Leopard should put his horse to the gallop, to en- 
counter him. But the christian knight, well acquainted with the 
customs of eastern warriors, did not mean to exhaust his good 
horse by any unnecessary exertion ; and, on the contrary, made 
a dead halt, confident that if the enemy advanced to the actual 
shock, his own weight and that of his powerful charger would 
give him sufficient advantage, without the momentum gained by 
rapid motion. 

Equally sensible and apprehensive of such a probable result, 
the Saracen cavalier, when he had approached towards the chris- 


* A kind of loose vest: 


OF THE ECLECTIC. SERIES. 423 


tian within twice the length of his lance, wheeled his steed to 
the left, with inimitable dexterity, and rode twice around his an- 
tagonist, who, turning without quitting his ground, and presenting 
his front constantly to his enemy, frustrated his attempts to at- 
tack him on an unguarded point; so that the Saracen, wheeling 
his horse, was fain to retreat to the distance of a hundred yards. 
A second time, like a hawk attacking a heron, the heathen re- 
newed the charge, and, a second time, was fain to retreat without 
coming to a close struggle. 

A third time, he approached in the-same manner, when the 
Christian knight, desirous to terminate this illusory warfare, in 
which he might, at length, have been worn out by the activity of 
his foeman, suddenly seized the mace which hunggat his saddle- 
bow, and with a strong hand and unerring aim, hurled it against 
the head of his assailant. ‘The Saracen was just aware of the 
formidable missile, in time to interpose his light buckler betwixt 
the mace and his head; but the violence of the blow forced the 
buckler down on his turban, and, though that defense also con- 


tributed to deaden its violence, the Saracen was beaten from his 


horse. — hs 

Ere the Christian could avail himself of this mishap, his nim- 
ble foeman sprung from the ground, and, calling on his steed, 
which instantly returned to his side, he leaped into his seat, and 
regained all the advantage of which the Knight of the Leopard 
had hoped to deprive him. But the latter had, in the mean while, 
recovered his mace, and the eastern cavalier, who remembered 
the strength and dexterity with which his antagonist had aimed 
it, seemed to keep cautiously out of reach of that weapon, of 
which he had so lately felt the force; while he showed his pur- 
pose of waging a distant warfare with missile weapons of his 
own. Planting his long spear in the sand at a distance from the 
scene of combat, he strung,with great address, a short bow which 
he carried at his back, and, putting his horse to the gallop, once 
more described two or three circles of a wider extent than for- 
merly, in the course of which, he discharged six arrows with such 
unerring skill, that the goodness of the knight’s armor alone 
saved him from being wounded in as many places. 

The seventh shaft apparently found a less perfect part of the 
harness, and the Christian dropped heavily from his horse. But 
what was the surprise of the Saracen, when, dismounting to ex- 
amine the condition of his prostrate enemy, he found himself 
suddenly within the grasp of the European, who had had recourse 
to this artifice to bring his enemy within his reach! Even in 
this deadly grapple, the Saracen was saved by his agility and 
presence of mind. He unloosed the sword-belt, in which the. 
Knight of the Leopard had fixed his hold, and thus eluding the 


» of a 


424 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


fatal grasp, mounted his horse, which seemed to watch his mo- 
tions with the intelligence of a human being, and again rode off. 

But in the last encounter, the Saracen had lost his sword and 
his quiver of arrows, both of which were attached to the girdle, 
which he was obliged to abandon. He had also lost his turban 
in the struggle. These disadvantages seemed to incline the Mos- 
lem toa truce. He approached the Christian with his right hand 

extended, but no longer in a menacing attitude. +‘ There is truce 
betwixt our nations,” he said; *§ wherefore should there be war 
betwixt thee and me? Let there be peace betwixt us.” “I am 
well contented,’”’ answered he of the Leopard; “but what secu- 
rity dost thou offer that thou wilt observe the truce?’ The 
word of a follgwer of the Prophet was never broken,” answered 
the emir. “It is thou, brave Nazarene, from whom J should 
demand security, did I not know that treason seldom dwells with 
courage.’ ‘The crusader felt that the confidence of the Moslem 
made him ashamed of his own doubts. “By the cross of my 
sword,’ he said, laying his hand upon the weapon as he spoke, 
“I will be a true companion to thee, Saracen, while our fortune 
wills that we remain in company.” 

“ By Monammed, Prophet of Allah,” replied his late foeman, 
“there is not treachery in my heart toward thee. And now, 
wend we to yonder fountain, for the hour of rest is at hand, and 
the. stream had hardly touched my lip, when. I was called to 
battle by thy approach.” ‘The Knight of the Leopard yielded a 
ready and. courteous assent; and the late foes, without an angry 
look or gesture of doubt, rode, side by side, to the little cluster of ~ 
palm trees—WatrTer Scorr. 


LESSON CCV. 
LOCHINVAR. 


O voune Lochinvar is come out of the West, 
Through all the wide border his steed was the best; 
And save his good broad-sword, he weapon had none, 
He rode all unarm’d, and he rode all alone. 

So faithful in love, seal so dauntless in war, 

There never was knight like young Lochinvar. 


Fe staid not for brake, and he stopp’d not for stone, 
He swam the Eske river where ford there was none; 
But, ere he alighted at Netherby sate, ; 
The bride had consented, the eallant came late: 

For a laggard in love atid a dast: ard In war, 

Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. 


= 


- * 
’” OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. " 425 


So boldly he éntered thre Netherby hall, 

Among bridesmen, and kinsmen, ‘and brothers; and all ; 
Then spoke: the bride’s father, his hand on his sword, 
(For the poor,eraven bridegroom said never a word,) 
‘**O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, 

Or to dance.at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar ?” 


“‘T long woo’d your daughter, my suit you denied : 
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide; 
And now,am I come with this lost love of mine, 
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. 
There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far, 
That would gladly be bride to young Lochinvar.” 


_ The bride kissed the goblet, the knight took it up, 

He quafted off the wine, and threw down the cup. 

She look’d down to blush, and she look’d up to sigh, 

With a smile on her lips, ‘and a tear in her eye. 

He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar,— 

“ Now tread we a measure!” said young Lochinvar. ; 


So stately h® form, and so lovely her face, 

That never a hall such a galliard did grace; 

While her mother did fret and her father did fume, 

_And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume 3. 
And the bridemaidens whisper’d “I were better by far 
To have matched. our fair cousin with young Lochinvar.” 


One touch to her hand and one word in her ear, . 
When they reached the hall door,.and the charger stood near; 
So light to the croup the fair lady he swung pod 


So light to the saddle before her he sprung! 
‘She is won!, we are gone, over bank, bush, and seaur; 
They *1l have fleet steeds that follow »’ quoth young Lochinvar. 


There was mounting ’ mong Gremes of the Netherby clan; 
Forsters, Fenwicks, and Museraves, they rode and they ran; _ 
There was racing, and chasing, on Cannobie Lee, | 

But the lost bride of Netherby ne’er did they see. 

So daring i in love and so dauntless in war, 

Have ye e’er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar ?—Scorr. 


LESSON CCVI. 
a AN INVOCATION. 


Come out of the sea, maiden, 
Come out of the sea, 

With thy green tresses laden 
“With jewels. for me 5 

36 


: 426 > 


* - ; 
MGUFFEY'S RHETORICAL GUIDES 


Out of the deep, iiheos the. sea-grass waves 


Its plumage in silence, o’er gems and. graves, 
Come out, for the moonlight. f 
Is over the earth, - hg 
~ And all ocean is bright 5 
With a beautiful birth ; 
The birth of ten thousand gleaming things, 
Darting and dipping their silver wings. 


w 


Come up, with your rosy, siren horn, 
From caves of melody, 
Where the far down music-of, death is Dabs: 
O maiden of the sea! 
Come, breathe to me tales of your coral halls, 
Where the echo of tempest never falls ; 
Where faces are vailed 
In a strange eclipse, ae 
And voice never wailed ae 
From human lips; 
But a fathomless silence and glory sleep, 
Far under the swell of the booming deep. 
ie s 
Come forth, and reveal 
To my *tranced eye, 
Where thy elf sisters steal 
In their beauty by, 
Like victors, with watery flags unfurled, 
>Mid the buried wealth of a plundered world : 
Where the sea-snakes glide 
O’er monarchs-drowned, 
With their skulls yet in pride 
Of diamonds crowned : 
Where the bones of whole navies lie around, 


Awaiting the last stern trumpet’s sound. 
s 


O tell me if there, 
The uncoffined dead, ; 
‘Who earth’s beautiful were, 
To their billowy, bed, 
(Some cavern of pearls,) are borne far in, 
Where the spirits of ocean their watch begin; — 
And their long hair flung 
O’er their bosoms white, 
Is the shroud of the young, 
The pale, and bright; 
And guarded for ages, untouched they lie 
In the gaze of the sea-maid’s sleepless eye. 


For, niaiden, 1 ’ve dreamed 
Of long vigils kept 

O’er lost ¢ ones, who gleamed 
On our hearts ere they slept; 


4 


{ 


* 


al OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES, 427 


The visions of earth,—too pure for decay, 
In the silent, green ocean-halls inineam mney 

And Giese to her. rest 

A seraph went down, 

With her-warm heart pressed 

. To the heart she had won; 
*Mid the shriek of the storm and the thunder of waves, 
Sea-maiden, she shot to thy echoless caves. 


O come—lI invoke thee, 
~'rom thy dim chambers hither— 
Bear me under the sea, 
Where white brows never wither; 
Lay me there, with my pale and beautiful dead, 
With her wet hair sweeping about my head! 
Come out of the sea, maiden, 
iy Come out of the sea, 
For my spirit is laden 
YS} en, 
And pants to be free; 


_{ would pass from the storms of this sounding shore, 


For the cloudless light of my years is o’er. —Mewen. 


LESSON CCVII. 


THE CORAL GROVE 


.. 


Deep in the wave is a coral grove, 

Where the purple mullet and gold-fish rove, 
Where the sea-flower spreads its leaves of blue, 
That never are wet with falling dew, 

But.in bright and changeful beauty shine, pike 
Far down in the green and glassy brine. a 


The floor is of sand, like the mountain-drift, 

And the pearl-shells spangle the flinty snow ; 
From coral rocks the sea-plants lift 

Their boughs where the tides and billows flow ; 
The water is calm and still below, 

For the winds and waves are absent there, 
And the sands are bright as the stars that glow 

In the motionless fields of upper air 5 
There, with its waving blade of green, 

The sea-flag streams through the silent water, 
And the crimson leaf of the dulse is seen 

To blush like a banner bathed in slaughter : 


There, with a light and easy motion, 
The fan-coral sweeps through the clear,deep sea 


~And the yellow and searlet tufts of ocean 


Are bending like cotn on the upland lea; 


128 MWGUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE © . 
And life, in rare and beautiful forms, 
Is sporting amid those bowers of stone, 
And is safe, when the wrathful spirit of storms 
Has made the top of the waves his own; 
And when the ship from his fury flies, _ 
When the myriad voices of ocean roar, 
‘When the wind-god frowns in the murky skies, 
And demons are waiting the wreck on shore ; 
Then, far below, in the peaceful sea, -~ 
The purple mullet and gold-fish rove, n 
Where the waters murmur tranquilly, 
Through the bending twigs of the coral-grove.—Prrcivah. | 


. $ 


LESSON CCVIII. <p 
LIFE. 


Lire bears us on, like the current of a mighty river. Our 
boat, at first, glides down the narrow channel, through the play- 
ful murmurings of the little brook, and the windings of its hap- 
py border. The trees shed their blossoms over our young heads ; 
the flowers on the brink seem to offer themselves to our hands ; 
we are happy in hope, and we grasp eagerly at the beauties 
around us; but the stream hurries us on, and still our hands are 
empty. ie 

Our course in youth and manhood is along a wider and deeper 
flood, and amid objects more striking and magnificent. We are 
animated by the moving picture of enjoyment and industry, 
which passes before us: we are excited by some short-lived suc- 
cess, or depressed and made miserable by some equally short- 
lived disappointment. But our energy and our dependence are 
ooth in vain. ‘I'he stream bears us on, and our joys and our griefs 
are alike left behind us; we may be shipwrecked, but we cannot 
anchor; our voyage may be hastened, but it cannot be delayed ; 
whether rough or smooth, the river hastens towards its home, till 
the roaring of the ocean is in our ears, and the tossing of the 
waves is beneath our heel, and the land lessens from our eyes, 
and the floods are lifted up around us, and we take our last leave 
ef the earth and its inhabitants ; and of our further voyage there 
ss no witness but the Infinite. and Eternal. 

And do we still take so much anxious thought for future 
days, when the days which have gone by have so strangely and 
s0 uniformly deceived us?) Can we still so set our hearts on the 
creatures of God, when we find, by sad experience, that the. 
Creator only is permanent? ‘Or shall we not rather lay aside 
every weight, and every sin which doth most easily beset us, 


a 


a OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 429 


r a 
and think ourselves henceforth as wayfaring persons only, who 
have no abiding inheritance, but in the hope of a better world, 
and to whom even that world would be worse than hopeless, if 
it were not for our Lord Jesus Christ, and the ‘interest we have 
obtained in his mercies ?—Bisnor Huser. 


& 


LESSON CCIX.. ‘ 
ge). : ’ THE SHIPWRECKEK. 


In the winter of 1824, Lieutenant G , of the United States 
navy, with his beautiful wife and infant child, embarked in a 
packet at Novfolk, bound -to 8. Carolina. For the first day and 
night after their departure, the wind continued fair, and the weath- 
er clear ; but,on the evening of the second day, a severe gale sprung 
up, and, towards midnight, the captain, judging himself much far- 
ther from the land than he really was, and dreading the Gulf 
Stream, hauled in for the coast; but with the intention, it is pre- 
sumed, of laying to when he supposed himself clear of the Gulf. 
Lieut. G. did-not approve of the captain’s determination, and the 
‘result proved that his fears were well founded ; for towards morn- 
ing the vessel grounded. 

Vain would it be, to attempt a description of the horror which 
was depicted in every countenance, when the awful shock, occa- 
sioned by the striking of the vessel’s bottom, was first experienc- 
ed. ‘The'terror of such a situation can be known only to those, 
who have themselves been shipwrecked. No others can have a 
tolerable idea of what passed in the minds of the wretched crew, 
as they gazed-with vacant horror on the thundering elements, and 
felt, that their frail bark must soon, perhaps the next thump, be 
dashed to pieces, and they left at the mercy of the billows, with 
not even a plank between them and eternity. First, comes the 
thumping of the vessel; next, the dashing of the surge over her 
sides ; then, the careening of the vessel on her beam ends, as the 
waves, for an instant, recede; and, lastly, the crashing of the 
spars and timbers, at each returning wave; the whole forming 
a scene of confusion and horror which no language can describe. 

But awful as is the shipwrecked sailor’s prospect, what are his 
feelings compared to the agony of a fond husband and father, 
who clasps ina last embrace his little world, his beloved wife 
and child! The land was in sight, but to approach it was scarce- 
ly less dangerous, than to remain in the raging sea around them. 
_ Lieut. G. was a seaman, and a brave one; accustomed to danger, 

and quick in seizing upon every means of rescuing the unfortu 


.. 


430 M’GUFFEY’S RHETGRICAL GUIDE 


nate. But now, who were the unfortunate,.that called-on him 
for rescue? Hho were they, whose screams were heard louder 
than the roaring elements, imploring that aid which no human 
power.could afford:them? His wife and child! O! heart-rend- 
ing agony. 

But why attempt to describe what few can imagine? Ina 
word, the only boat which could be got, was manned by two 
gallant tars. Mrs. G., and her child, and its nurse were lifted 
into it; it was the thought of desperation! ‘The freight was al- 
ready too much. Mr. G. saw this, and knew that the addition 
of himself would diminish the chances of the boat’s reaching the 
shore in safety; and horrible as was the alternative, he  him- 
self gave the order;—‘ Push off, and make for the land, my 
brave lads !’’—-the last words that ever passed his lips! The 
order was obeyed; but, ere the little boat had proceeded fifty 
yards, (about half the distance to the beach,) it was struck by a 
wave, capsized, and boat, passengers, and _all,.enveloped in the - 

angry surge! [he wretched husband saw but too distinctly the 
destruction of all that he held dear. But here, alas, and forever 
were shut out from him all sublunary prospects. He fell upon 
the deck—powerless, senseless, a corpse——the victim of a sub- 
lime sensibility. 

But what became of the unhappy wife and child? The an- 
swer shall be brief. Mrs. G. was borne through the breakers to 
the shore by one of the brave sailors; the nurse was thrown 
upon the beach with the drowned infant in her arms. Mrs. G. 
was taken to a hut senseless, continued delirious many days, but 
finally recovered her senses, and with them, a consciousness of 
the awful catastrophe which, i a moment, had made her a cuinp- 
LESS WIDOW.—ANONYMOUS. 


LESSON CCX 


THE HILL OF SCIENCE. 


In that season of the year, when the serenity of the sky, the 
various fruits which cover the ground, the discolored foliage of 
the trees, and all the sweet, but fading graces of inspiring au- 
tumn, open the mind to benevolence, and dispose it for contem- 
plation, | was wandering in a beautifu! and romantic country, till 
curiosity began to give way to weariness; and I sat me down 
on the fragment of a reck, overgrown with moss, where the 
rustling of the falling leaves, the dashi.g of waters, and the hum 
of the distant city, soothed my mind into the most perfect tran- 
quillity, and sleep insensibly stole npon me, as I was indulging 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 431 


the agreeable reveries, which the objects around me naturally in- 
spired, 

I immediately found myself in a vast, extended plain, in the 
middle of which arose a mountain, higher than | before had 
any conception of. It was covered with a multitude of people, 
chiefly youth ; many of whom pressed forward with the liveli- 
est expression of ardor in their countenances, though the way 
was in many places steep and difficult. I observed that those 
who had but just begun to climb the hill, thought themselves 
not far from the top; but,as they. proceeded, new hills were 
continually rising to their view, and the summit of the highest 
they could before discern, seemed but. the foot of another, till 
the mountain at length appeared to lose itself in the clouds. 
As I was gazing on these things with astonishment, my good 
genius suddenly appeared :—* ‘The mountain before thee,”’ said 
he, ‘is the Hill of Science. On the top, is the Temple of ‘Truth, 
whose head is above the clouds, and a vail of pure light covers 
her face. Observe the progress of her votaries ; be silent and at- 
tentive.”’ 

I saw that the only regular approach to the mountain was by 
a gate, called the Gate of Languages.. It was kept by a woman 
of pensive and thoughtful appearance, whose lips were continu- 
ally moving as though she repeated something to herself. Her 
name was Memory. On entering the first inclosure, I was 
stunned with a confused murmur of jarring voices and disso- 
nant sounds; which increased upon me to such a degree that I 
was utterly confounded, and could compare the noise to nothing 
but the confusion of tongues at Babel. 

Afier contemplating these things, I turned my eyes towards 
the top of the mountain, where the ait was always pure and ex- 
hilarating, the path shaded with laurels and other evergreens, 
and the effulgence, which beamed from the face of the goddess, 
seemed to shed a glory round her votaries. ‘‘ Happy”’ said I, 
«care they who are permitted to.ascend the mountain !”———but 
while I was pronouncing this exclamation with uncommon ardor, * 
I saw beside me a form, of divine features, and a more benign 
radiance. ‘ Happier’’ said she, “are those whom Virtue con- 
ducts to the mansions of content.” “What!” said I, “does Vir- 
tue then reside in the vale 2” SM 

“T am found,’’ said she, ‘in the vale, and I illuminate the 
mountain; I cheer the cottager at his toil, and inspire the sage 
at his meditation. I mingle in the crowd of cities, and bless the 
hermit in his cell. I have a temple in every heart that owns 
my influence; and to him that wishes for me, I am already 
present. Science may raise you to eminence; but I alone can 
guide you to felicity!’ While the goddess was thus speaking, 


432 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


I stretched out my arms towards her with a vehemence which 
broke my slumbers. The chill dews were falling around me, 
and the shades of evening stretched over the landscape, I hast- 
ened homeward, and resigned the night to silence and medita- 
tion.—Arken’s MisceLLAniss. 


LESSON CCXI. 
THE VICTORIOUS MARCH OF GOD. 


Our Gop exalts himself, 
And.his enemies are scattered ; 
They that hate him flee before him. 
As smoke disperses, so they disperse; 
"As wax is melted before the fire, 
So shall the wicked perish at the presence of God. 
But the righteous are glad ; 
They rejoice before God; 
They exult with joy. 


Sing praise to God! extol his name! 

Prepare his way, who marcheth in the desert; 
E:xtol him by his name Jau, 

And exult before him. 

The orphan’s father, the widow’s judge, 

Is God exalted in holiness. 

Our God ! to the desolate 

He gave a habitation, 

He brought to happiness those who were bound, ~ 
And the rebellious dwelt in a dry land. 


O God! when thou didst go forth, 

And wentest before thy people, 

When thou didst tread the desert, 

Then the earth did quake ; 

The heavens distilled in drops, 

When God looked forth upon them ; 
Sinai, itself, moved before the face of God, 
The God of_Israel. 

Thou, O God, didst.send a gentle rain, 
Thou didst revive thy parched inheritance, 
Thy congregation can inhabit there ; 

For thou, by thy goodness, O God, 

Ilast provided for the poor. 


The Lord gave the signal of war, 
A host were messengers of victory. 
“The kings of the hosts flee, they flee ; 
She that tarried at home divideth the spoil 
'-* Why wait ye there among the water-pots? 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES, 433 


Che wings of the dove are covered with silver; 
Her feathers sparkle with yellow gold. 

As the Almighty scattered the kings, 

‘he snow descended upon Salmon.”? 


Thou mount of God, mount of Bashan, 

The mountain range, mount Bashan, 

Why look with pride, ye pinnacled heights, 
On these, which God hath chosen to dwell in? 
Jehovah shall inhabit there . 
Forever and ever. 

The chariots of God are a thousand thousand, 
And ten times ten thousand more; 

The Lord comes forth in their midst, 

From the glory-crowned- summit of Sinai. 
‘Thou didst raise the chariots aloft, 

‘Thou leddest forth thy captives with thee, 
‘Thou gavest men for thy triumphal gifts, 
And madest rebels now to dwell with thee, 
Jehovah, God. 


Let God be praised, from day to night be praised ; 
He layeth on our burdens, and giveth us help; 
He is our God, the God of our salvation: 
Jehovah, the Lord, hath the issues to death. 
Surely, God will wound the head of his enemies, 
The hairy sealp of him who is against him. 

I will bring him, saith the Lord, from Bashan, 

I will bring him from the depths of the sea; 

Thy foot shall yet wade in their blood ; 

Thy dogs shall lick the blood of thine enemies. 


‘Sing unto the Lord, ye kingdoms of the earth ; 
O sing praises unto the Lord ; 
To him that rideth upon the heaven of heavens. 
Lo! he doth give out his voice, a mighty voice. 
Ascribe ye strength unto God : 
His excellency is over Israel ; 


His strength is in the clouds.—Hxrper’s Her. Poetry, Ps, 68. _ 


LESSON CCXII. 
GOD,THE DEFENSE OF HIS PEOPLE. 


Wuo is this that cometh from Edom, 
With dyed garments from Bozrah ? 
This, that is glorious in his apparel, 
Traveling in the greatness of his strength? 
I; that speak in righteousness, 
Mighty to save. 
37 


434 ‘ M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


Wherefore art thou red in thine apparel, 
And thy garments like him that treadeth in the wine-fat? 
I have trodden the wine-press alone; 
And of the people there was none with me; 
For I will tread them in mine anger, 
And trample them in my fury; 
And their blood shall be sprinkled upon my garments, 
And I will stain all my raiment. 
For the day of vengeance is in-my heart, 
And the year of my redeemed is come. 
I looked, and there was none to help! 
And I wondered, that there was none to uphold; 
Therefore,mine own arm brought salvation unte me} 
And my fury, it upheld me. 
I will tread down the people in mine anger, 
And make them drunk in my fury, 
And I will bring down their strength to the earth. 
I will mention the loving-kindness of the Lord, 
And the praises of the Lord, 
According to all that the Lora hath bestowed on us, 
And the oreat goodness toward the house of Israel, 
Which he hath bestowed on them according to his mercies, 
And according to the multitude of his loving-kindnesses. 
For he said: Surely they are my people, - 
Children that will not lie; 
So he was their Savior. 
Tn all their affliction he was afflicted, 
And the angel of his presence saved them ; ; 
In his love and in his pity he redeemed them ; 
And he bare them and carried them all the days of old. 
But they rebelled and vexed his Holy Spirit ; 
Therefore, he has turned to be their enemy, 
And he fought against them. 
Then he remembered the days of old, Moses and his people, saying, 
Where is He that brought them up out of the sea 
With the shepherd and his flock ? 
Where is He that put his Holy Spirit within him? 
That led them by the right hand of Moses, with his glorious arm, 
’ Dividing the water before them, 
To make himself an everlasting name ? 
That led them through the deep, 
As a horse in the wilderness, that they should not stumble? 
Look down from heaven, 
And behold from the habitation of thy holiness and of thy glory ; 
Where is thy zeal and thy strength, 
The sounding of thy bowels, and of thy mercies toward me ? 
Are they restrained ? m 
Doubtless thou art sur Father, YJ 
Though Abraham ve ignorant of us, 
And Israel acknowledge us not; 
Thou, O Lord! art our Father, 
Our Redeemer: thy name is from everlasting.—Isa. cH. Lx. 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES, Es 


LESSON CCXIII. 


APOSTROPHE TO MONT BLANC. 


Hast thou a charm to stay the morning star 
In his steep course? So long he seems to pause 
On thy bald, awful head, oh sovereign Blanc! 
The Arné, and the Arveiron at thy base 
Rave ceaselessly, while thou, dread mountain form 
Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines, 
How silently! Around thee and above, 
Deep is the sky and black: transpicuous deep, 
An ebon mass! Methinks thou piercest it, 
As with a wedge! but when I look again, 
It seems thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine, 
Thy habitation from eternity. 


Oh dread and silent form! I gazed on thee, 
“Till thou, still present to my bodily eye, 
Didst vanish from my thought. Entranced in prayer, 
I worshiped the Invisible alone; 
Yet thou, methinks, wast working on my soul, 
Ken like some deep, enchanting melody, 
_So sweet, we know not we are listening to it. 


But I awake, and with a busier mind, 
And active will, self-conscious, offer now, 
Not as before, involuntary prayer, 
And passive adoration. 

Hand and voice, 

Awake, awake! and thou, my heart, awake! 
Green fields and icy cliffs, all join my hymn! 
And thou, O silent mountain, sole and bare, 
O! blacker than the darkness, all the night, 
And visited all night by troops of stars, / 
Or when they climb the sky, or when they sink, 
Companion of the morning star at dawn, 
‘Thyself earth’s rosy star, and of the dawn 
Co-herald! wake, oh wake, and utter praise! 


Who sank thy sunless pillars in the earth 2 
Who filled thy countenance with rosy light ? 
Who made thee father of perpetual streams ? 

And you, ye five wild torrents, fiercely glad, 

Who called you forth from night and utter death? 
From darkness let you loose, and icy dens, 

Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks, 
_Forever shattered, and the same forever 2? 

Who gave you invulnerable life, 
Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy, 
Unceasing thunder and eternal foam ? 


~ 435 


436 


MW’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


And who commanded, and the silence came, 
‘‘ Here shall the billows stiffen and have rest?’ 
Ye ice-falls! ye that from yon dizzy heights 
Adown enormous ravines steeply slope 3. 
Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty noise, 
And stopped at once, amidst their maddest plunge, 
Motionless torrents! silent cataracts ! 


Who made you glorious as the gates of heaven _ 
Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade the sun _ 
Clothe you with rainbows? “Who, with lovely flowers 
Of living blue, spread garlands at your feet? 
God! God! the torrents like a shout of nations 
Utter; the ice-plain bursts, and answers, God ! . 
God! sing the meadow-streams with gladsome voice, 
And pine groves with their soft and soul-like sound: 


~The silent snow-mass, loosening, thunders, God! 


Ye dreadless flowers, that fringe the eternal frost! 
Ye wild goats, bounding by the eagle’s nest! _ 
Ye eagles, playmates of the mountain blast! ; 

Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the cloud! 
Ye signs and wonders of the elements, 
Utter forth God! and fill the hills with praise! 


And thou, oh silent form, alone and bare, 
Whom, as I lift again my head, bowed low 
In silent adoration, I again behold, 
And to thy summit upward from thy base 
Sweep slowly, with dim eyes suffused with tears,— ~ 
Awake, thou mountain form! Rise, like a cloud; 
Rise, like a cloud of incense from the earth! 
Thou kingly spirit throned among the hills! 
Thou dread embassador from earth to heaven, 
Great hierarch! tell thou the silent sky, 
And tell the stars, and tell the rising sun, 


Earth, with her thousand voices, calls on God.—CoLeripér. 
‘ ¢ ‘ % << 


Pn 


LESSON CCXIV. 
THUNDER-STORM ON THE ALPS 


2 
Cxear, placid Leman! thy contrasted lake, 
With the wide world I dweil in, is a thing * 
Which warns me with its stillness, to forsale 
jarth’s troubled waters for a purer spring. 
This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing 
To wait me from distractions ; onee I loved 
Torn ocean’s roar, but thy soft murmuring — 


Atte 


_ 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. _ 437 


Sounds sweet as if-a sister’s voice reproved, 
That I with stern delight should e’er have been so moved. 


All heaven and earth are still; though not in sleep, 
But breathless, as we grow when feeling most; 
And silent, as we stand in thoughts too deep: 

All heaven and earth are still: from the high host 
Of stars, to the lulled lake and mountain-coast, ~ 


All is concenterd in a life intense, abaze * | 
Where not a beam, nor air, nor leaf is lost, a a7 
But hath a part of being, and a sense Wily: 


Of that which is of all, creator and defense. 


The sky*is changed! and sucha change! O night, 
And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong! 
Yet-lovely in your strength, as is the light 
Of a dark eye in woman! . Far along, 
From peak to peak, the rattling crags among, 
Leaps the live thunder !—not from one lone cloud, 
But every mountain now hath found a tongue; 
And Jura answers through her misty shroud, 

Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud ! 


And this is in the night:—Most glorious night! 

Thow wert not sent for slumber! let me be 

A sharer in thy fierce and far delight— 

A portion of the tempest and of thee! 

How the lit lake shines !—a phosphoric sea! 

And the big rain comes dancing to the earth ! 

And now again, ’t is black; and now, the glee 

Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain mirth, 
As if they did rejoice o’er a young earthquake’s birth. 


Now, where the swift Rhone cleaves his way between 
Heights, which appear as lovers who have parted 

» In hate, whose mining depths so intervene, — 
That they can mect no more, though broken-hearted ; 
Though in their souls, which thus each other thwarted, 
Love was the very root of the fond rage, 
Which blighted their life’s bloom, and then—departed !— 
Itself expired, but leaving them an age 

Of years, all winters—war within themselves to wage; 


Now, where the quick Rhone thus hath cleft his way, 
The mightiest of the storms has ta’en his stand! 
For here, not one, but many make their play, © ~ ay, 
And fling their thunder-bolts from hand to hand, . 
Flashing, and cast around! Of all the land, 
The brightest through these parted hills hath forked 
His lightnings—as if he did understand, 
That in such gaps as desolation worked, 
There, the hot shaft should blast whatever therein lurked. 
. “ | Byron. 


ta < 
438 MW GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


ath 


LESSON CCXV. 
THE DISCONTENTED PENDULUM. 

An old clock, that had stood for fifty years ina farmer’s kitch- 
en, without giving its owner any cause of complaint, early one 
summer’s morning, before the family was stirring, suddenly stop- 
ped. Upon this, the dial-plate (if we may credit “the fable) chang- 
ee countenance with alarm; the hands made a vain effort to con- 
their course ; the sheets remained motionless with surprise ; 


| ihe eights hung speechless ; ; and each member felt disposed to 


lay the blame on the others. At length,the dial instituted a formal 
inquiry as: to the cause of the stagnation; when hands, wheels, 
weights, with one voice, protested ‘their innocence. 

But now, a faint tick was heard below, from the pendulum, 


~ who thus spoke :—“I confess myself to be the sole cause of the 


present stoppage; and I am willing, for the general satisfaction, 
to assign my reasons. ‘The truth is, that I am tired of ticking.” 
Upon hearing this, the oid clock became so enraged, that it was. 
on the very point of striking. “ Lazy wire!” exclaimed the dial- 
plate, holding up its hands. “ Very good!” replied the pendulum ; 
“It is vastly easy for you, Mistress Dial, who have always, as 
every body knows, set yourself up above me,—it is vastly easy 
for you, I say, to accuse other people of laziness! you, who have 
had nothing to do, all your life, but to stare people in the face, 
and to amuse yourself with watching all that goes on in the kitch- 
en. Think, I beseech you, how you would like to be shut up for 
life.in this dark closet, and to wag backwar ds and forwards, year 


‘after year, as I do.” : 


. “As to that,’ said the dial, “is there not a window in your 
house, on purpose for you to look through?”’ “For all that,” 
resumed the pendulum, ‘it is very dork here; and, although 
there is a window, i dare not stop even for an instant, to look out 
atit. Besides, I am really tired of my way of life ; and, if you © 
wish, I *ll tell you how I took this disgust at my employment. 
I happened, this morning, to be calculating, how many times | 


should have to tick in the course of only the next twenty-four 


hours ; perhaps some one of you, above there, can give me the” 
exact sum.”’ 

‘The minute-hand being quick at figures, ‘presently replied, 
“Eighty-six thousand, four hundred tines.” “Exactly so,’ 
replied the pendulum. “ Well, I appeal to you all, if the very: 
thought of this was not enough to fatigue one; and when I be- 
gan to multiply the strokes of one aa by those of months and 


years, really it is no wonder if I felt discouraged at the prospect. 


So, after a great deal of reasoning and hes sitation, thinks I to my- 
self, Ll stop.” ; 


o 
’ 
Grime 
bal 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 439 


The dial could scarcely keep its countenance during this ha- 
rangue; but resuming its gravity, thus replied: “Dear Mr. Pen- 
dulum, I am really astonished that such a useful, industrious per- 
son as yourself, should have been seized by this sudden’ weari- 
ness. It is true, you have done a great deal of work in your 
time; so have we all, and are likely to do; which, although it 
may fatigue us to think of, the question is, whether it will fatigue 
us to do. Would you now do me the favor to give about half a 
dozen strokes, to illustrate my argument ?”” eae 

The pendulum complied, and ticked six times at its usual pace. 
“‘ Now,”’ resumed the dial, “may I be allowed to inquire if that . 
exertion is at all fatiguing or disagreeable to you?” “ Not in the 
least,” replied the pendulum ; “ itis not of six strokes that I com- 
plain, nor of sixty, but of millions.’ ‘ Very good,”’ replied the 
dial; “but recollect that, although you may think of a million 
of strokes in an instant, you are required to execute but one; 
and that, however often you may hereafter have to swing, a mo- 
ment will be always given you to swing in.” “ That consider- 
ation staggers me, I confess ;” said the pendulum. “Then I 
hope,” resumed ‘the dial-plate, ‘‘ that we shall all return to our 
duty immediately ; for the maids will lie in bed, if we stand 
idling thus.”’ 

Upon this, the weights, who had never been accused of light 
conduct, used all their influence in urging him’ to proceed: when, 
as if with one consent, the wheels began to turn, the hands began 
to move, the. pendulum began to swing, and, to its credit, ticked 
as loud as ever; while a red beam of the rising-sun, that stream- 
ed through a hole in the kitchen, shining full upon the dial-pinig, 
it brightened up as if nothing had been the matter. : 

When the farmer came down to breakfast that mor ning, upon 
looking at the clock, he declared that his watch had gained half 
an hour in the night. | ; 
MORAL. 3 

A celebrated modern writer says, “'Take care of the minetes, 
and the hours will take care of themselves.”” This is an admi- 
rable-remark, and might be very seasonably recollected, when 
we begin to be “ weary in well doing,” from the thought of hav- 
ing too much todo. ‘The present moment is all we have to do 
with in any sense; the past is irrecoverable, the future is uncer- 
tain; nor is it fair to burden one moment with the weight of the 
next. Sufficient unto the moment is the trouble thereof. If we 
had to walk a hundred miles, we should still have to set but one 
step at atime; and this process continued, would infallibly bring 
us to our journey’s end. Fatigue generally begins, and is always 
increased, by calculating, in a minute, the exertion of hours. 

Thus, in looking forward to future life, let us recollect that 


* 


440 MGUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


we have not to sustain all its toil, to endure all its: sufferings, 

encounter all its crosses at once. One moment comes laden Imith 

its own little burdens, then flies, and is succeeded by another no 

* heavier than the last;—if one could be borne, so can another and 
another. Even looking forward to a single day, the spirit may 
sometimes faint from an anticipation of the duties, the labors, the 
trials to temper and patience that may be expected. Now this 
is unjustly layire the burden of many thousand moments upon 
one. Let any one resolve always to do right now, leaving then 
to do as it ca, and if he were to live to the age of Methuse- 
.lah, he would never do wrong. But the common error is to re- 
solve to act right after breakfast, or after dinner, or to-morrow 
morning, or next time; but now, just now, this once, we must go 
on the same as ever. 

It is easy, for instance, for the most ill-tempered person, to 
resolve, that the next time he is provoked, he will not-let his 
temper overcome him; but the victory would be to subdue tem- 
per on the present provocation. If, without taking up the bur- 
den of the future, we would always make the single eflort at the 
present moment, while there would be, at any one time, very lit- 
tle to do, yet, by this simple process, continued from day to day, 
every thing would at last be done. 

It seems easier to do right to-morrow than to-day, merely 
because we forget, that when to-morrow comes, then will be now. 
Thus life passes with many, with resolutions for the future, which 
the present never fulfills. It is not thus with those, who, “by pa- 
tient continuance in well-doing, seek for glory, honor, and im- 
mortality.” Day by day, minute by minute, they execute the ap- 
pointed task, to which the requisite measure of time and strength 
is proportioned; and thus, having worked while it is called day, 

they, at length, “rest from their labors, and their works follow 

them.’’ Let us then, whatever our hands find to do, do it with 
all our might, recollecting that now is the proper and accepted 
time.—Jane T'ayror. 


LESSON CCXVI. 
ADDRESS TO A SHRED OF LINEN. 


Wovtp they had swept cleaner! 
Here ’s a littering shred 
Of linen left behind—a vile reproach 
To all good housewifery. Right glad am J, 
That no neat lady, trained in ancient times 
Of pudding-making and of sampler work, 
And speckless sanctity of household care, 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 44] 


Hath happened here to spy thee. She, no doubt, 
Keen looking through her spectacles, would say, 
“This comes of reading books ;” or some spruce beau, 
Essenc’d and lily-handed, had he chanced 

To see thy slight superfices, ’t would be, 

“This comes of writing poetry.” 


-Well—well— 

- Gome forth, offender! hast thou ought to say ? 
Canst thou, by merry thought, or quaint conceit, 

- Repay this risk, that I have run for thee? 

Begin at alpha, and resolve thyself, 

Into thine elements. I see the stalk 

And bright, blue flower of flax, which erst o’erspread 
That fertile land, where mighty Moses stretch’d 
His rod miraculous. I see thy bloom 

Tinging, tho’ scantily, these New England vales. 
But lo! the sturdy farmer lifts his brake, 

- 'To crush thy bones unpitying, and his wife, 
With ’kerchief’d head, and eyes brimfull of dust, 
Thy fibrous nerves with hatchel-tooth divides. 


I hear a voice of music, and behold, 
The ruddy damsel singing at her wheel, 
While by her side the rustic lover sits. 
Perhaps, his shrewd eye secretly doth count 
The mass of skains, which, hanging on the wall, 
Increaseth, day by day. Perchance his thought,— 
For men have deeper minds than women—sure! 
Is calculating what a thrifty wife . 
The maid will make, and how his dairy shelves 
Shall groan beneath the weight of golden cheese, 
Made by her dextrous hand, while many a cag 
And pot of butter to the market borne, . 
May, transmigrated, on his back appear, e ‘. 
In new thanksgiving coats. a 

Fain would I ask, 

Mine own New England, for thy-once loved wheel, 
By sofa and piano quite displaced ; 
Why dost thou banish from thy parlor hearth — 
That old Hygean harp, whose magic ruled 
Dyspepsy, as the minstrel shepherd’s skill 
Eixorcised Saul’s ennuit There was no need, 
In those good times, of trimcallisthenies, 
And there was less of gadding, and far more 
Of home-born, heartfelt comfort, rooted strong 
In industry, and bearing such rare fruit, 
As wealth might never purchase . 


But come back, 
Thou shred of linen. I did let thee drop, 
In my harangue, as wiser ones have lost 


142 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


The thread of their discourse. . What was thy To 
-When the rough battery. of the loom had stretched... 
And knit thy simews, and the chimist sun bo 
Thy brown complexion bleached. 


Methinks I scan 
Some idiosyncrasy, that marks thee out 
A defunct pillow-case. Did the trim guest, 
To the best chamber usher’d, e’er admire 
The snowy whiteness of thy freshen’d youth, 
Feeding thy vanity ? or some sweet babe 
Pour its pure dream of innocence on theet- 
Say, hast thou listened to the sick one’s moan, 
When there was none to comfort? or shrunk back 
From the dire tossing of the proud man’s brow? ~ 
Or gathered from young beauty’s restless sigh, 
A tale of untold love? 


Still, close and mute! 
Wilt tell no secrets, ha? Well, then, go down, 
With all thy churl-kept hoard of curious lore; 
In majesty and mystery, godown. | 
Into the paper-mill, and from its jaws, 
Stainless and smooth, emerge. Happy shall be 
The renovation, if, on thy fair page, 
Wisdom and truth, their hallowed lineaments 
Trace for posterity. So shall thine end 
Be better than thy birth, and worthier bard 
Thine apotheosis immortalize—Mrs. Sicourney. 


LESSON CCXVII. 
SCENE FROM THE POOR GENTLEMAN. 
SIR ROBERT BRAMBLE dnd HUMPHREY DOBBINS. 


Sir #. Vx tell you what, Humphrey Dobbins, there is not 
a syllable of sense in all you have been saying. But I suppose 
you will maintain there is. 

Hum. Yes. 

Sir R&R. Yes! is that the way you talk to me, you old boor? 
What’s my name? 

Hum. Robert Bramble. 

Sir A. An’t I a baronet? Sir Robert Bramble, of Black- 
berry Hall, in the county of Kent? ’Tis time you should know 
it, for you. have been my clumsy, two-fisted valet these thirty 
years: can you deny that? 

Hum. Hem! 


OF THRE ECLECTIC SERIES. a Op 443 


Sir R.« Hem! what do you mean by hem? ion that 
rusty door of your mouth, and make your ugly voice walk out a 
of it. Why don’t you answer my question ? Eg 

Hum. Because, if I contradict you, I shall tell a lie, an 
when I agree with you, you are sure to fall out. 

Sir R. Humphrey Dobbins, I have been so long endeavor- 
ing to beat a few brains into your pate, that all your hair has 
tumbled off before my point is carried. 

Hlum. What-then? Our parson says my head is an em- 
blem.of both our honors. . 

Sir R. Aye; baeaise honors, like your head, are apt: to be 
empty. 

Hum. No; butif a servant has grown bald acure his mas- 
ter’s nose, it els as if there was honesty on one side, and _re- 
gard for it on the other. 

Sir R. Why, to be sure, old Humphrey, you are as honest as 
a—pshaw ! the parson means to palaver us; but, to return to my 
position, I tell you, I don’t like your flat contradiction. 

Hum. Yes, you do. 

Sir &. I tell youl don’t. I only love to hear men’s argu- 
ments. I hate their flummery. 

flum. What do you call flummery ? 

Sir &. Flattery, blockhead! a dish too often served up by | ~ 
paltry poor men to paltry rich ones. 

flum. I never serve it up to you. 

Sir R. No, you give me a dish of a different description. 

ay Hem! what is it? 

Sir &. Sour-crout, you old crab. 
flum. 1 have held you a stout tug at argument this many a 


ear, 

Sip #. And yet Icould never teach you a syllogism. Now 
mind, when a poor man assents to what a rich man says, I sus- 
pect he means to flatter him: now I amrich, and hate flattery. 
firgo—-when a poor man subscribes to my opinion, I hate 
him. ° 

Hum. That’s wrong 

Sir &. Very well--negatur—now prove it. 

Hum. Put the case then, I am a poor man. 

Sir #. You an’t, you scoundrel. You know you shall nev- 
er want, while I have a shilling. 

Hum. Well, then, | am a poor—I must be a poor man now, 
orl shall never get on. | ; 

Sir £. Well, get on, be a poor man. 

Hum. 1am a poor man, and I argue with you, and convince 
you, you are wrong; then you call yourself a blockhead, and I 
am of your opinion: now, that’s no flattery. 


Re 


* 


‘444 -. M’GUFFEY’S RHETCRICAL GUIDE 


Sir RR)» Why no; but when a man’s of the Same opinion 


i » with me, he puts an end to the argument, and that puts an end to 


the conversation, and so I hate him for that. But where’s my 


nephew, Frederic? © 

Hum. Been out these two hours. 

Sir #. An undutiful cub! only arrived from Russia last 
night, and though I told him to stay at home till I rose, he’s 
scampering over the fields like a Calmuc Tartar. 

Hum. He’s a fine fellow. 

Sir R. He has a touch of our family. Don’t you think he 
is a little like me, Humphrey ? 

flum. No, not a bit; you are as ugly an old man as ever I 
clapped my eyes on. 

Sir R. Now that’s plaguy impudent, but there ’s no flattery 
in it, and it keeps up the independence of argument. His father, ~ 
my brother Job, is of as tame a spirit--Humphrey, you reniem- 
ber my brother Job? 

lum. Yes, you drove him to Russia five-and-twenty years 
ag'0. : 

Sir A. I did not drive him. 
Hum. Yes, you did. You would never let him be at peace 


in the way of argument. 


Sirk. At peace! zounds, he-would never go to war. 

Hum. - He had the merit to be calm. 

Sir R. So has a duck-pond. He received my arguments 
with his mouth open, like a poor-box gaping for half-pence, and, 
good or bad;he swallowed them all without any resistance. We 
couldn ’t disagree, and so we parted. . 

flum. And the poor, meek gentleman went-to Russia for a 
quiet life. 

Sir R. A quiet life! why he married the moment hé got 
there, tacked himself to the shrew relict of a Russian merchant, 
and continued a speculation with her in furs, flax, potashes, tal- 
low, linen, and leather; what’s the consequence ? thirteen months 
ago he broke. ; 

Hum. Poor soul, his wife should have followed the business 


» for him. 


' Sir R._ I fancy she did follow it, for she died just as he broke, 
and now this madcap, Frederic, is sent over to me for protection. 
Poor Job, now he is in distress, I must not neglect his son. 

Flum. Here comes his son; that’s Mr. Frederic. 

Fred. Oh, my dear uncle, good morning! your park is noth- 
ing but beauty. 

Sir £. Who bid you caper over my beauty? I told you to 
stay in doors till I got up. ; 

Fred. So you did, but I entirely forgot it. 


* 
| 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. | 445 *© 


Sir R. ‘And pray, what made you forget it? te 7. vs 
Fred. Thesun. 
Sir R. The sun! he’s mad! you-mean the moon, 1 believe. 


Fred. Qh, my dear uncle, you don’t know the effect of a fine — 


spring morning, upon.a fellow just arrived from Russia. The 


day locked bright, trees budding, birds singing, the park was so 
gay, that I took a leap out of your old balcony, made your deer 
fly before me like the wind, and chased them all around the park 
to get an appetite for breakfast, while you were snoring in bed, 
uncle. 

Sir &. Ch, oh! So the effect of English sunshine upon a 
Russian, isto make him jump out of a baleony and worry my 
deer: 

fred. I confess it had that influence upon me. 

Sir R. You had better be influenced by a rich old uncle, un- 
less you think the sun likely to leave you a fat legacy. 

Fred. i hate legacies. 

Sir #. Sir, that’s mighty singular. They are pretty solid 
tokens, at least. 

Fred. Very melancholy tokens, uncle; they are posthumous 


despatches, affection sends to gratitude, to inform‘us we have lost , 


a gracious friend. . 

Sir &. How charmingly the dog argues! 

fred. But I own my spirits ran away with me this morning. 
I will obey you better in future; for they tell me you are a very 
worthy, good sort of gentleman. 

Sir R. Now who had the familiar impudence to tell you 
that.- 

Fred. Old rusty, there. 

Sir R.. Why, Humphrey, you didn ’ te 

Hum. ‘Yes, but I did though. 

Fred. Yes, he did, and on that score I shall be anxious to 
show you obedience, for ’tis as meritorious to attempt sharing a 
good man’s heart, as it is paltry to have designs upon a rich 
man’s money. A noble nature aims its attentions full breast 
high, uncle; a mean mind levels its dirty assiduities at the 
pocket. 

Sir R. (Shaking him by the hand.] Jump out of every 
window I have in the house; hunt my deer into high fevers, my 
finé fellow! Aye, that’s right. This is spunk and plain speak- 
‘ing. Give me a man, who is always flinging his dissent to my 
doctrines smack in my teeth. 

Fred. 1 disagree with you there, uncle. 

Hlum. And so do I. 

Fred. You! you forward puppy! If you were not so old, 
[’d knock you down. 


ay 


un Se . 4 

j ; * oe ‘ Spe 7 

es 

EE ak See Pe s* 
ER aM’ GUFFEY'S RHETORICAL GUIDE ae 


us R ap. knock. Soke down, if you do. Iw ont have 3 my 
servanis thumped i into dumb flattery. 
Hum. Come,’ yeu "re ruffled. Let us go to the business of - 
the morning. " 
Sir R. “Tl hate the business of the morning.. Don’t you see 
we are engaged in discussion. I tell you, I hate the business of 
the morning. ? 
Hum. No you don’t. Paes 
Sir R. Don’t?) Why not? 
Hum. Because it’s charity. 
Sir &. ‘Pshaw! - Well, we must not neglect the business, if 
there be any distress in the parish; read the list, Humphrey. 
Hum. | Taking out a peper, and reading.| “ Jonathan 
Huggins, of Muck Mead, is put in’ prison for debt.” . 
Sir BR. Why, it was only last week that Gripe, the attorney, x 
recovered two cottages for him by law, worth sixty pounds. 
Hum. Yes, and charged a hundred for his trouble; so seized ~ 
the cottages for part of his bill, and threw J onathan into jail for 
the remainder. i 
Sir R, A harpy! I must relieve the poor fellow? S distress. 
» &red. And J must kick his attorney. * 
flum. |Reading.| “'The curate’s horse is dead. 
Sirk. Pshaw! ‘There ’s no distress in that. 
Hum. Yes there is, toa man that must go twenty miles ev- 
ery Sunday to preach, for thirty pounds a year. 
Sir R. Why won’t the vicar give him another nag? | 
flum. Because it’s cheaper to get another curate already 
mounted. 
Sir &. Well, send him the black pad which I purchased last 
Tuesday, and tell him to work’ him as long as he lives. What 
else have we upon the list? 
Hum. Something out of the common,—there’s one Lieu- 
tenant Wor thington, a disabled officer, and a widower, come 
to lodge at farmer Harrowby’s, in the village; he is, it seems, 
very poor, and more proud than poor, and more honest than 
proud. 
= SiR. “And so he sends to me for assistance. | 
Hum. Wed see you hanged first! No, he ’d sooner die than 
ask you or any man fora shilling! There’s his daughter, and 
his wife’s aunt, and an old corporal that served in the wars With ~ 
him—he keeps them all upon his half-pay. S45 
Str #.  Starves them all, 1’m afraid, Humphrey. -* 9 © 
ped [ Going.| Good morning, uncle. 
Sir #. You rogue, where are you running, now ? + 
Fred. ‘To talk with Lieutenant Worthington. ake 
Str R. And what may you be going to say to,him ? eet 


~ 
a 
— a 


got 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIFS, 4A%> .* 


Fred. 1 can’t tell till I encounter him; and then uncle, when. © i 
I have an old gentleman by the hand, who has béen disabled in» * 
his country’s service, and is struggling to support. his motherless 
child, a poor relation, and a faithful servant in. honorable indi- 
gence, impulse will supply me with words to SRELese. my senti- _ 
ments. 

Stir R. Stop, you rogue; I must be before you m one busi- 
ness. 

Fred. That depends on who can run fastest; so, start fair, 
uncle, and here goes.—[ Jtuns out. | 

Sir R. Stop, stop; why, Frederic—a jackanapes—to take 
my department out of my hands! -I’Il disinherit the dog for his 
assurance. ¢ 

Hum. No you won’t. 

Sir R. Won’ti? Hang me if I—but we’ll argue that point ~ 
as we go. ‘So, come along, Humphrey.—Coiman. 


LESSON CCXVIIL 


STARLIGHT ON MARATHON. 


‘No. vesper-breeze is floating now, 
No murmurs:shake the air; 
A gloom hath vailed the mountain’s brow, 
And quietude is there ; ; 
The night-beads on the dew-white grass 
_ Drop brilliant as my footsteps pass. 


No hum of life disturbs the scene, 
The clouds are rolled to rest ; 
*T is ike a calm where grief hath been, 
So welcome to the breast! 
The warring tones of day have gone, 
And starlight glows-on Marathon. 


I look around from earth.to sky, 
And gaze from star to star; 
Till Grecian hosts seem gliding by, 
Triumphant from the war: 
_ Like sleepless spirits from the dead, 
* _ Revisiting where oncesthey bled. : 
What though the mounds that marked each name, 
Beneath the wings of ‘Time, 
Have worn away,—theirs is the fame, . 
Immortal and sublime; 
_For who can tread on Freedom’s plain, 
Nor wake her dead to light again? 


> 


M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


Oh! to have seen the marching bands, 
. And heard the battle clash, 
Have seen their weapon-clinching hands, 
And eyes defiance flash,— 
Their radiant shields,and dancing crests, 


_ And corselets on their swelling breasts. 


Then said the mother to the son, 
And pointed to his shield ; 
‘“¢ Come with it, when the battle’s done, 
Or on it, from the field !’’* 
Then mute she glanced her fierce, bright eye, 
That spoke of ages vanished by. 


"TP was here they fought: and martial peals 
Once thundered o’er the ground, 

And gash and wound from plunging steels 
Bedewed the battle mound ; 


. Here, Grecians trod the Persian dead, ao. 


And Freedom shouted while she bled! 


But gone the day of Freedom’s sword, 
And cold the patriot brave, 
Who mowed the dastard-minded horde 
Into a gory grave ; 
While Greece arose sublimely free, 
And dauntless as her own dark sea. 


Still, star-light sheds the same pale beam, 
For aye, upon the plain: 
And musing breasts might fondly dream 
‘The Grecian free again 5 
For empires fall, and Freedom dies, 
But dimless beauty robes the skies. 


May He, whose glory gems the sky, 
x0d of the slave and free, 
Hear every patriot’s burning sigh . 
That ’s offered here for thee ; 
For thee, sad Greece, and every son 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 449 


LESSON CCXIX. 


+ ihe 
. BATTLE OF MARATHON. 


' To the left of the Athenians was a low chain of hills, clothed 
with trees ; to their right, a torrent; their front was long; for, to 
render it more imposing in extent, and to prevent being out-flank- 
ed by the Persian numbers, the center ranks were left weak and 
shallow ; but, on either wing, the troops were drawn up more 
solidly and strong. _ Callimachus commanded the right wing 
the Platzans formed the left; the whole was commanded by Mil 
tiades. ‘They had few, if any, horsemen or archers. 

The details which we possess of their arms and military array, 
if notin this, in other engagements of the same period, will com- 
plete the picture. We may behold them clad in bright armor of 
a good proof and well tempered, which covered breast and back ; 
the greaves, so often mentioned by Homer, were still rétained ; 
their helmets were wrought and crested, the cones mostly painted 
in glowing colors, and the plumage of feathers, or horse-hair, rich 
and waving in proportion to the rank of the wearer. Broad, 
sturdy, and richly ornamented were their bucklers—the pride and 
darling of their arms, the loss of which was the loss of honor ; 
their spears were ponderous, thick, and long—a chief mark of 
contradistinction from the light shaft of Persia—and, with their 
short broad-sword, constituted their main weapons. 

No Greek army marched to battle without vows, and sacrifice, ' 
and prayer; and now, in the stillness of the pause, the divine rites 
were solemnized. Loud broke’ the trumpets; the standards, 

wrought with the sacred bird of Athens, were’ raised onehigh 5 
* it was the signal of battle, and the Athenians rushed with an im- 
petuous vehemence upon the Persian power. “'They were the 
first Greeks of whom I have heard,” says- the historian, “who 
ever ran to attack a foe; the first, too, who ever beheld, without 
dismay, the garb and armor of the Medes ; for hitherto, in Greece, 
the very name of Mede had excited terror.’ 

When the. Persian army, with its numerous horse, animal as 
well as man protected by coats of mail, its expert bow-men, its 

ines and ‘deep files of turbaned soldiers, gorgeous with many a 

blazing standard, headed by leaders well hardened, despite their 
gay garbs and adorned breast-plates, in many a more even field ; 
when, I say, this force beheld the Athenians rushing. towards 
them, they considered them, thus few and destitute alike of cav- 
alry and archers, as madmen hurrying to destruction. But it 
was evidently not without deliberate calculation, that Miltiades 
had so commenced the attack.'The warlike experience of his guer- 


illa life had taught him to know the foe aa whom he fought. 
38 


459 MGUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


2 


To volunteer the assault, was to forestall and cripple the charge 
of the Persian horse; besides, the long lances, the heavy arms, 


the hand-to-hand valor cf the Greeks, must have been no light. 


encounter to the more weakly mailed and less formidably armed 
infantry, of the East. Accustemed, themselves,to give the charge, 
it was a novelty and a disadvantage to receive it. 

Long, fierce,-and stubborn was the battle. ‘The center wing 
of the barbarians, composed of the Sacians and the pure Per- 
sian race, at length, pressed hard upon the shallow center of the 
Greeks, drove them back into the country, and, eager with pur- 
suit, left their own wings to the charge of Callimachus on. the 
one side, and the Platzan forces on the other. The brave Cal- 
limachus, after the most signal-feats of valor, fell fighting in the 
field; but his troops, undismayed, smote on with spear and 
sword. 

The barbarians retreated backwards to the sea, where swamps 
and marshes encumbered their movements ; and here, (though 
the Athenians did not pursue them far,) the greater portion were 
slain, hemmed in by the morasses, and probably ridden down by 
their own disordered cavalry. Meanwhile, the two tribes that 
had formed the center, one of which was commanded by Aris- 
tides, retrieved themselves with a mighty effort, and the two 
wings having routed their antagonists, now inclining towards 
each other, intercepted the barbarian center, which thus attacked 
in front and rear, was defeated with prodigious slaughter. 

Evening came on; confused and disorderly, the Persians now 
only thought of flight ; the whole army retired to their ships, 


‘hard chased by the Grecian victors, who, amid the carnage, dired 


the fleet. Cynegirus, brother. to Aischylus, the tragic poet, 
(himself highly distinguished for his feats, that day,) seized one 
of the vessels by the poop; his hand was severed by an ax; he 
died gloriously of his wounds. - But to none did the fortunes of 
that fieid open a more illustrious career, than to a youth of the 
tribe of Leontes, in whom, though probably then but a simple 
soldier in the ranks, werefirst made manifest the nature and the 
genius destined to command. The: name of that youth was 
"THEMISTOCLES. 

Seven vessels were captured, six thousand, four hundred of the 
barbarians fell in the field; the Athenians and their brave ally 
lost only one, hundred, but among them perished many of their 
bravest.nobles. It was a superstition, not uncharacteristic of that 
imaginative people, and evincing. how greatly their ardor was 
aroused, that many of them fancied they Leheld the gigantic 
shade of their ancestral Theseus, completely armed and bearing 
down before them upon the foe. 


A picture of the battle, representing Miltiades in the foremost 


— ae 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 451 


place, and solemnly preserved in public, was deemed no inade- 
quate reward to that great captain; and yet, conspicuous above 
‘the level plain of Marathon, rises a long barrow, fifteen feet in 
height, the supposed sepulcher of the Athenian heroes. Still 
does a romantic legend, not unfamiliar with our traditions of the 
north, give a supernatural terror to the spot. Nightly, along the 
plains are yet heard by superstition, the neighings of chargers, 
and the rushing shadows of spectral war. And still, throughout 
the civilized world, (civilized how much by the art and lore of 
Athens !):men of every clime, of every political persuasion, feel 
as Greeks at the name of Marathon. . Later fields have presented 
the spectacle of an equal valor, and almost the same disparities 
of slaughter; but never’in ‘the annals of earth, were united so 
closely in our applause, admiration for the heroism of the victors, 
and sympathy for the holiness of their cause.—BuLwerx. 


LESSON CCXX. 


SONG OF THE GREEK BARD. 


_A mopErn Greek is here supposed to compare the present degeneracy of 
his country with its ancient glory, and to utter his lamentations in the words 
of the song. Poe 


Tue Isles of Greece, the Isles of Greece! 
Where burning Sappho loved and sung, 

Where lived the arts of war and peace, 
Where Delos rose and Phebus sprung! 

Eternal summer gilds them yet, 

But all, except their sun, is set. 


wo 


The Scian and the Teian muse, 
The hero’s harp, the lover’s lute, 
Have found the fame your shores refuse ; 
Their place of birth alone is mute 
To sounds which echo further west, 
Than your sire’s ‘‘Islands of the Blest.” 


The mountains look on Marathon, 
And Marathon looks on the sea 5 
And musing there-an hour alone, 
I dreamed that Greece might still be free; - 
For, standing on the Persian’s grave, 
I could not deem myself a slave. 


~ A king* sat.on the rocky brow . 
Which looks o’er sea-born Salamis; « 


* Xerxes. 


452 


M’GUFFEY’'S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


And ships by thousands lay below, 

And men and nations—all were his! 
He counted them at break of day, 
And when the sun set—where were they ? 


And where are they ? and where art thou, 
My country ?. On thy voiceless shore 
Th’ heroic lay is tuneless now, 
Th’ heroic bosom beats no more! 
And must this lyre, so long divine, 
Degenerate into hands like mine? 


Must we but weep o’er days more blest? 
Must we but blush? Our fathers bled. 

Earth! render back from out thy breast 
A remnant of our Spartan dead! 

Of the three hundred, grant but three, 

To make a new Thermopyle ! : 


What, silent still? and silent all? 
Ah! no:—the voices of the dead 
Sound like a distant. torrent’s fall, 
And answer, ‘Let one living head, 
But one arise,—we come, we come!”’ 
"T is but the Living who are dumb. 


In vain! in vain!—strike other Mord 3 
Fill high the cup with Samian wine! 

Leave battles to the Turkish hordes, 
And shed the blood of Scio’s vine! 

Hark! rising to the ignoble call, 

How answers each bold bacchanal ! 


You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet; 

» Whereis the Pyrrhic phalanx gone? 

Of two such lessons, why forget | 
The nobler and the manlier one? 


- You have the letters Cadmus gave; 


Think you he meant them for a slave? 


Fill high the bowl with Samian wine! 
We will not think of themes like these! 

It made Anacreon’s song divine! ; 
‘He served—but served Polycrates— 

A tyrant: but our masters then 

Were still at least our countrymen. 


The tyrant of the Chersonese 

Was freedom’s best and bravest friend: 
That tyrant was Miltiades! 

O! that the present hour would lend 
Another despot of the kind! 
Such chains as his were sure to bind. 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 453 


» Fil high the bow] with Samian wine! 
~ Our virgins dance beneath the shade; 
I see their glorious, black eyes shine; 
But gazing on each glowing maid, 
My own the burning tear-drop laves, 
- 'To think such breasts must suckle slaves. 


Place me on Sunium’s marble steep, 
Where nothing,save the waves and I, 
May hear our mutual murmurs sweep ; 
There, swan-like, let me sing and die; 
A land of slaves shall ne’er be mine— | 
Dash down yon cup of Samian wine !—Byron. 


LESSON CCXXI, 


THE FAMILY OF MARCO BOZZARIS. 


Movine on beyond the range of ruined houses, though still 
within the line of crumbling walls, we came to a spot, perhaps 
as interesting as any that Greece, in her best days, could show. 
It was the tomb of Marco Bozzaris! No monumental marble 
emblazoned his deeds and fame; a few round stones, piled over 
his head, which, but for our guide, we should have passed haan’ 
out noticing, were all that marked his grave. 

I would not disturb a proper reverence for the past ; time cov- 
ers, with its dim and twilight glories, both distant scenes and 
the men who acted in them ; but, to my mind, Miltiades was not 
more of a hero at Marathon, or Leonidas,at ‘Thermopyle, than 
Marco Bozzaris, at Missolonghi. When they went out against 
the hosts of Persia, Athens and Sparta were great and” free, and 
they had the prospect of glory and the praise of men,—to the 
Greeks always dearer than life. -But when the Suliote chief. 
drew his sword, his country lay bleeding at the feet of a giant, 
and all Europe condemned the Greek revolution as fool- -hardy » 
and desperate. 

For two moaths, with but a few aided men, protected only 
by a ditch and a slight parapet of earth, he defended the town, 
where his body now “rests, against the whole Egyptian army. In 
stormy weather, living upon bad and unwholesome bread, with 


_no covering but his cloke, he passed his days and nights in con- 


stant vigil; in every assault his sword cut down the foremost 
assailant; and his voice, rising above the din of battle, struck ter- 
ror into the hearts of the enemy. In the struggle which ended 
with his life, with two thousand men, he proposed to attack the 
whole army of Mustapha Pacha, and called upon all who were 


: t 
a 


= 


454 M’GUFFEYS RHETORICAL GUIDE, 


willing to die for their country, to stand forward. The whole 
band advanced, toa man. Unwilling to sa+rifice so many brave 
men in a death- -struggle, he chose three huncred, the sacred num- 
ber of the Spartan band, his true and trusty Suliotes. At mid- 
night, he placed himself at their head, directing that not a shot 
should be fired till he sounded his bugle; and his last command 
was, “If you lose sight of me, seek me in the pacha’s tent.” 
In the moment of victory, and while ordering the pacha to be 
seized, he received a ball in the loins; his voice still rose above 
the din of battle, cheering his-men, until he was struck by an- 
other ball in the head, and borne dead from the field of his glo- 
By. * 

But the most interesting part of our day at Missolonghi was 
tocome. Returning-from a ramble round the walls, we noticed 
a large, square house, which, our guide told us, was the residence 
of Constantine, the brother of Marco Bozzaris. We were all in- 
terested in this intelligence; and our Interest was in no small de- 
gree. increased, when he added, that the widow and two of the 
ehildren of the Suliote chief. were living. with his brother. The 
house was surrounded by a high stone-wall, a large gate stood 
invitingly open, and we turned toward it in the hope of catching 
a glimpse of the inhabitants; but, before we reached the gate, 


“our interest had increased to such a point, that, after consulting 


with our guide, we requested him to say, that if it would not be 
considered an intrusion, three travelers—two of them Ameri- 


cans—would feel honored in being permitted to pay their re- ea 


spects to the widow and children of Marco Bozzaris. 


a. 
We were invited in, and shown into a large room on the right, 


where three Greeks were sitting cross-legged, on a divan, smo- 
king the long ‘Turkish pipe. Soon after, the brother entered, a 
man about fifty, of middling height, spare built, and wearing a 
Bavarian uniform, as holding a colonel’s commission in the ser- 

of king Otho. In the dress of the dashing Suliote, he would 
have better: looked the brother of Marco Bozzatis, and I might 
then more easily have recognised the daring warrior, who, on the 
field of battle, ma moment of extremity, was deemed, by uni- 
versal acclamation, worthy of succeeding the fallen herh Now, 
the straight, military frock-coat, buttoned «tight across the breast, 
the stock, tight pantaloons, boots, and straps, seemed to repress 
the free energies of the mountain warrior; and I could not but 
think how awkward it must be,for one who had spent his whole 
life in a dress which hardly touched him, at fifty, to put on a 


i This occurred August 20th, 1823. His last words were, gis is dic for libs 
erty; is a pleasure, not a pain.” 


bad ~ 
“ae » 


Ms a eal 


‘ 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. .. 455 


stock, and straps to his boots. Our guide introduced us, with an 
apology for our intrusion. ‘The colonel received us with great 
kindness, thanked us for the honor done his brother’s widow, 
and requested us to be seated, ordering coffee and pipes. 

And here, on the very first day of our arrival in Greece, and 
from a source which made us proud, we had the first evidence of 
what afterward met me at every step, the warm feeling existing 
in Greece toward America; for almost the first thing that the 
brother of Marco Bozzaris said, was to express his gratitude as a 
Greek, for the services rei ndered his country by our own; and 
after referring to the provisions sent out for his famishing coun- 
trymen, his eye sparkled and his cheek- flushed, as he told us, 
that when the Greek revolutionary flag first sailed into the port of 
Napoli di Romania, among hundreds of vessels of all nations, ©. 
an American captain was the first to recognize and salute it. 

In a few moments, the widow of Mareo Bozzaris entered. I 
have often been disappointed in my pre-conceived notions of 
personal appearance, but it was-not so with the lady who now 
stood before me. She looked the widow of a hero; as one wor- | 
thy of those Grecian mothers, who gave their hair for bow-strings, 
and their es for sword-belts, and, while their heart-strings 
were cracking, sent theif young lovers from their arms, to fight 
and perish for their country. Perhaps it was she tha tled Mar- 
co Bozzaris into the path of unmortality, that roused him frome. 

wild guerilla warfare in which he had passed his early life, eS 

es and. fired him with the high and holy ambition of freeing his 
Cea Gl ~ Of one thing I am certain, no man could look her in 
e@ face, without finding his wavering purposes. fixed, without 
ee treading: more firmly in the path of high and henorable enter- 
prise. ~ She > was under forty, tall, and stately in person, and 
habitec n deep black, fit emblem of her widowed condition, 

We all rose as she entered the room; and, though ‘living seclu- has 

ded, and seldom. seeing the face of a stranger, she received our * 

compliments and returned them with far less embarrassment, 

than we both felt and exhibited. . oe 
But our-embarrassment—at least, I speak for myself—was . 
induced by an unexpecied circumstance. Much as I was inter- 
ested in lier appearance, I was not. insensible to the fact, that 
she was accompanied by two youne and -beautiful girls, who 
-— were introduced to us as her daughters. ‘This somewhat bewil- 
~ dered me; for, while waiting for their appearance, and talking 
‘s ' with Constantine Bozzaris, I had, in some way, conceived the 
idea, that the daughters were. mere. children, and had fully made 
up my mind to take them both on my knee and kiss them; but 
the appearance of the stately mother recalled me to the grave. 
* of Bozzaris; and the daughters would probably have thought 
‘2 


is 
Z 


» ox Po mi 


= 4 *-* ae 


456 WGUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


that I was.taking liberties, upon so short an acquaintance, if I 
had followed up my benevolent purpose in regard to them ; so, 
with the long pipe in my hand, which, at that time, I did not 
know how to manage well, I cannot flatter myself that I exhib- 
ited any of the alvantages of continental travel. 

‘The elder was about sixteen, and even in the opinion of my 
friend, Dr. W., a. cool judge in these matters, a beautiful girl, 
possessing all the elements of Grecian beauty ; a dark, clear com- 
plexion; dark hair, set off by a little red cap, embroidered with 
gold thread, and a long blue tassel hanging down behind ;-and 
large black eyes expressing a melancholy quiet, but which might 
be excited to shoot forth glances of fire more terrible than her 
father’s sword. Happily too, for us, she talked French, having 
learned it from a French marquis, who had served in Greece, 
and been domesticated with them; but young, and modest, and 
unused to the company of strangers, she felt the embarrassment 

ommon to young ladies, when attempting to speak a foreign 
_ language. And we could not talk to her on common themes. 
~ Our lips were sealed, of course, upon the subject which had 


brought us-to her house. We could not sound for her the praises 


-_ of her gallant father. 
At parting, however, I told them that the name of Marco Boz- 
garis was as familiar in America, as that of a-hero of our own 


: -revolution; and that it had been hallowed by the inspiration of 


an American poet; and I added, that if it would not be unac- 
ceptable, on my return to my native country, I would send the 
_ tribute referred to, as an evidence of the feeling existing in Amer- 
_ica toward the memory of Marco Bozzaris. _ My offer was grate- _ 
fully accepted; and afterward, while in the act of mounting my 
horse to leave Missolonghi, our guide, who had remained behind, 
came to me with a message from the widow and daugiiers, re- 
minding me of my promise. 

I make no apology for introducing to the public, the widow and 
- daughters of Marco Bozzaris. ‘True, I was received by them in 
private, without any expectation, either on their part or mine, 
that all the particulars of the interview would be noted and laid 
before the eyes of all who choose to read. I hope it will not be 
considered invading the sanctity of private life; but, at all events, 
I make no apology ; the widow and children of Marco Bozzaris 
are the property of the world.—STEvENs. 


+ 


eS a oe ee ae oa - 


* 
OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 45 


LESSON CCXXII. 
MARCO BOZZARIS. 


Ar midnight, in his guarded tent, 

The Turk lay dreaming of the hour, 
When Greece—her knee in suppliance bent 

Should tremble at his power. 

In dreams, through camp and court he bore 
The trophies of a conqueror ; 

In dreams, his song of triumph heard: 
Then wore his monarch’s signet ring ; 
Then pressed that monarch’s throne, a king: 
As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing, 

As Eden’s garden-bird. 


At midnight, in the forest shades, 
Bozzaris ranked his Suliote band, 
True as the steel of their tried blades, 
Heroes in heart and hand. 
There, had the Persian thousands stood; 
There, had the glad earth drunk their blood, Rit 
In old Plateea’s day: . 
And now, there breathe that haunted air, 
The sons of sires who conquered there, 
With arms to strike and souls to dare, 
As quick, as far as they. 


An hour passed on; the Turk awoke,— 
That bright dream was his last: 

He woke, to die midst flame and smoke, 

And shout, and groan, and saber-stroke, 


And death-shot falling thick and fast, Seige 
As lightning from the mountain-cloud ; a 
And heard, with voice as trumpet loud, my, 


Bozzaris cheer his band ; 
‘Strike! till the last armed foe expires ; 
Strike! for your altars and your fires! 
Strike! for the green graves of your sires; 
God, and your native land!” - 


They fought like brave men, long and well; 
They piled the ground with Moslem slain; 
They conquered—but Bozzaris fell, 
Bleeding at every vein. 
His few surviving comrades saw 
His smile, when rang their faint huzza, 
And the red field was won; — 
They saw in death his eyelids close, 
Calmly as to a night’s repose, 
Like flowers at set of sun. 
39 . 


¥S.- 
458 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE. 


Come to the bridal-chamber, Death ; _ 
Come to the mother, when she feels 
For the first time, her first-born’s breath ; 
Come, when the blessed seals 
Which close the pestilence, are broke, 
And crowded cities wail the stroke; 
Come, in consumption’ S ghastly form, 
The earthquake’s shock, the ocean’s storm, 
Come, when the heart beats hich and warm, 
With banquet, song, and dance, and wine, 
And thou art terrible ;—the tear, 
The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier, 
And all we know, or dream, or fear 
Of agony, is thine. 
But to the hero, when his sword 
Has won the battle for the free; ° 
Thy voice sounds like a prophet’s word, 
And in its hollow tones are heard ‘ 
The thanks of millions yet to be. 


Bozzaris! with the storied brave, 
Greece nurtured in her glory’s prime, 
Rest thee; there is no prouder grave, 
Even in her own proud clime. 
We tell thy doom without a sigh, 
For thou art Freedom’s now, and Fame’s, 
One of the few, the immortal names, 
That were not born to die.—Ha..eck. 


LESSON CCXXIII. 


DUTIES OF AMERICAN CITIZENS. 


~ 


FELLOW-CITIZENS, let us not retire from this occasion, without 
a deep and solemn conviction of the duties which have devolved 
upon us. ‘This lovely land, this glorious liberty, these benign 
institutions, the dear purchase of our fathers, are ours; ours to 
enjoy, ours to preserve, ours to transmit. Generations past, and 
generations to come, hold us responsible for this sacred trust. 
Our fathers from behind admonish us with their anxious, pater- 
nal voices; posterity calls out to us from the bosom of the fu- 
ture; the world turns hither its solicitous eyes; all; all conjure 
us to act wisely and faithfully in the relation which we sustain. 
We can never, indeed, pay the debt which is upon us; but by 
virtue, by morality, by religion, by the cultivation of every good 
principle and every eood habit, we may hope to enjoy the bless- 
ing through our day, and leave it unimpaired to our children. 

Let us feel deeply how much of what we are and what we - 


i 


Suey 


< 
OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. ~ 459 


possess, we owe to this liberty and to these institutions of gov- 
ernment. Nature has, indeed, given us a soil which yields boun- 
teously to the hands of industry; the mighty and fruitful ocean 
is before-us, and the skies over our heads shed health and vigor. 
But what are-lands, and seas, and skies to civilized man, with- 
out society, without knowledge, without morals, without religious 
culture; and how can these be enjoyed in all their extent and 
all their exeellence, but under the protection of wise institutions, 
and a free government? Fellow-citizens, there is not one of us 
here present, who does not, at this moment, and at every mo- 
ment, experience in his own condition, and in the condition of 
those most near and dear to him, the influence and the benefits 
of. this liberty, and these institutions. Let us then acknowledge 
the blessing; let us feel it deeply and powerfully; let us cherish 
a strong affection for it, and resolve te maintain and perpetuate 
it. ‘The blood of our fathers, let it not have been shed in vain; 
the great hope of posterity, let it not be blasted. 

The striking attitude, too, in which we stand to the world — 
around us,—a topic to which, I fear, I advert too often, and 
dwell on too long,—eannot be altogether omitted here. — Neither 
individuals nor nations can perform their part well, until they 
understand and feel its importance, and comprehend and justly 
appreciate all the duties belonging to it. [It is not to inflate na- 
tional vanity, nor to swell a light and empty feeling of self-im- 
portance; but it is, that we may judge justly of our situation 
and of our duties, that I earnestly urge this consideration of our 
position and our character among the nations of the earth. 

It cannot be denied, but by those who would. dispute against 
the sun, that with America, and in America, a new era commen- 
ees in human affairs. This era is distinguished by free repre- 
sentative governments, by entire religious liberty, by improved 
systems of national intercourse, by a newly awakened and an 
unquenchable spirit of free inquiry, and by a diffusion of knowl- 
edge through the community, such as has been before altogether 
unknown and unheard of.. America, America, our country, fel- 
low-citizens, our own dear and native land, is inseparably con- 
nected, fast bound up, in fortune and by fate, with these great 
interests. If they fall, we fall with them; if they stand, it will 
be because we have upholden them. 

Let us contemplate, then, this connection which binds the pos- 
terity.of others to our own; and let us manfully discharge all 
the duties which it imposes. If we cherish the virtues and the 
principles of our fathers, Heaven will assist us to carry on the 
work of human liberty and human happiness. Auspicious omens 
cheer us. Great examples are before us. Our firmament now 


“a shines brightly upon our path. /#ashington is im the clear, 


? 
460 ' M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


upper sky. Adams, Jefferson, and other stars have jomed the 
American constellation; they circle round their center, andthe 
heavens beam with new light. Beneath this illumination, let us 
walk the course of life; and, at its elose, devoutly commend our 
beloved country, the common parent of us all, to the divine be- » 
nignity.——- WEBSTER. 


LESSON COXXIV. 


IMPORTANCE OF THE UNION. 


Mr. Prusipent, I am conscious of having detained you and 
the senate much too long. I was drawn into the debate with no 
previous deliberation, | such as is suited to the discussion of so 
grave and important a subject. But it is a subject of which my 
heart is full, and I have not been willing to suppress the utter- 
ance of its spontaneous sentiments. T cannot, even now, per- 
suade myself to relinquish it, without expressing once more, my 
deep conviction, that, since it respects nothing less than the union 
of the states, it is of most vital and essential importance to the 
public happiness. . 

I profess, sir, in my career hitherto, to have kept steadily in 
view the prosperity and honor of the whole country, and the 
preservation of our federal union. It is to that union, we owe 
our safety at home, and our consideration and dignity abroad. 
It is to that union, that we are chiefly indebted for whatever makes 
us most proud of our country. ‘That union we reached only by 
the discipline of our virtues, in the severe school of adversity. 
It had its Origin in the necessities of disordered finance, pros- 
trate commerce, and ruined credit. Under its benign influences, 
these great interests immediately awoke as from the dead, and 
sprang forth with newness of life. Every year of its duration 
has teemed with fresh proof of its utility and its blessings ; and 
although our territory has stretched out wider and wider, and 
our population spread farther and farther, they have not out-run 
its protection or its benefits. It has been to us all a eopious 
fountain of national, social, and personal happiness. 

I havegnot allowed myself, sir, to look beyond the union, to 
see what might lie hidden in the dark recess behind. If have 
not coolly weighed the chances of preserving liberty, when the 
bonds that unite us together shall be broken asunder. I have 
not accustomed myself to hang over the precipice of disunion, 
to see whether, with my short sight, | can fathom the abyss be- 
low ; nor could I regard him as a safe counselor in the affairs 
of the government, whose thoughts should be mainly bent_on 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 461 


considering, not how the union might best be preserved, but how 
tolerable might be the condition of the people, BAL ty it shall be 
broken up and destroyed. 

While the union lasts, we have high, eae gratifying 
prospects spread out before us, for us and our children. Beyond 
that, I seek not to penetrate the vail. God grant, that in my day, 
at least, that curtam may not rise. God-grant, that on my vision 
never may be opened what lies behind. When my eyes shall 
* be turned to behold, for the last time, the sun in heaven, may I 
not see him shining on the broken and dishonored fragments of 
a once glorious union; on states dissevered, discordant, bellig- 
erent; our land rent with civil feuds, or drenched, it may be, in 
fraternal blood! 

Let their last feeble and lingering glance rather behold the gor- 
geous ensign of the republic, now known and honored through- 
out the earth, still full high advanced, its arms and trophies. 
streaming in their original luster, not a stripe erased or polluted, 
nor a single star obscured, bearing, for its motto, no such misera- 
ble interrogatory as, What is all this worth? nor those other 
words of delusion and folly, Liberty first, and Union after- 
wards,—but every where, spread all-over, in characters of liv- 
ing light, blazing on all its ample folds, as they float over the sea, 
and over the land, and on every wind, and under the whole 
heavens, that other sentiment, dear to every true American heart 
—Liberty ann Union, now and forever ; one and inseparable! 

[ WEBSTER. 


LESSON. CCXXV.. 


THE AMERICAN FLAG, 


Wuen Freedom, from her mountain height, 
Unfurled her standard to the air, 
She tore the azure robe of night, 
And set the stars of glory there. 
She mingled with its gorgeous dyes, 
The milky baldrick ofthe skies, 
And striped its pure, celestial white, 
With streakings of the morning light; 
Then, from his mansion in the sun, 
She called hér eagle-bearer down, 
And gave into his mighty hand 
The symbol of her chosen land. 


Majestic monarch of the cloud ! 
Who rear’st aloft thy regal form, ‘ 
To hear the tempest trumping loud, 


462 


MGUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


And see the lightning-lances driven, 
When stridesthe warrior of the storm, — 
And rolls the thunder-drum of heaven; we: 
Child of the sun! to thee tis given 
- To guard the banner of the free, 
To hover in the sulphur smoke, 
To ward away the battle-stroke, 
And bid its blendings shine afar, 
Like rainbows in the cloud of war, 
The harbinger. of victory. 


Flag of the brave! thy folds shall fly 
The sign of hope and triumph high. 
When speaks the signal-trumpet tone, 


. And the long line comes gleaming on, 


Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet, 
Has dimmed the clistening bayonet, 

Each soldier’s eye shall brightly turn 

To where thy meteor glories burn, 

And as his springing steps advance, 
Catch war and vengeance from the glance; 
And when the cannon’s mouthings loud, 
Heave, in wild wreaths, the battle shroud, 
And gory sabers rise and fall, 

Like shoots offlame on midnight’s pall, 
There, shall thy victor glances glow, 

And cowering foes shall sink below 

Each gallant arm, that strikes beneath 
That awful messenger of death. 


Flag of the seas! on ocean’s wave. 
Thy stars shall glitter o’er the brave. 
When death, careering on the gale, 
Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail, 
And frighted waves rush wildly back, 
Before the broadside’s reeling rack, 
The dying wanderer of the sea 

Shall look at once to heaven and thee, 
And smile, to see thy splendors fly 

In triumph o’er his closing eye. 


Flag of the free heart’s only home! 
By angel hands to valor given, 
Thy stars have lit the welkin dome, 
And all thy hues were born in heaven. 
Forever float that standard sheet! 
Where breathes the foe but falls before us, 
With Freedom’s soil beneath our feet, 
And Freedom’s banner waving o’er us !—J. R. Draxn, 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 463 


* LESSON CCXXVI. 
THE EAGLE. 


Birp of the broad and sweeping wing, 
Thy home is high in heaven, 
Where the wide storms their banners fling, 2 
And the tempest clouds are driven. 
Thy throne is on the mountain-top ; 
‘Thy fields, the boundless air; 
And hoary peaks, that proudly prop 
The skies, thy dwellings are. 


Thou art perched aloft, on the beetling crag, 
And the waves are white below, 

And on, with a haste that cannot lag, 

_ They rush in an endless flow. 

Again thou hast plumed thy wing for flight, 
To lands beyond the sea, 

And away, like a spirit wreathed in light, 
Thou hurriest, wild and free. 


Lord of the boundless realm of air, 
In thy imperial name, 

The hearts of the bold and ardent dare 
The dangerous path of fame. 

Beneath the shade of thy golden wings, 
The Roman legions bore, 
From the river of Egypt’s cloudy springs, 

Their pride to the polar shore.* 


For thee they fought, for thee they fell, 
And their oath on thee was laid; 

To thee the clarions raised their swell, 
And the dying warrior prayed. 

Thou wert, through an age of death and fears, 
The image of pride and power, 

Till the gathered rage of a thousand years, 
Burst forth in one awful hour.} 


And then, a deluge of wrath it.came, 
And the nations shook with dread; 
And it swept the earth, till its fields were flame, 
And piled with the mingled dead. 
Kings were rolled in the wasteful flood, 
With the low and crouching slave ; 
And together lay in a shroud of blood, 
The coward and the brave. 


_ “The Roman standard was the image of an eagle. The soldiers swore by 
it, and the loss of it was considered a disgrace. ; 
t Alluding tothe destruction of Rome by the northern barbarians. 


464 MGUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


And where was then thy fearless flight? 
‘¢O’er the dark and mysterious sea, 

To the land that caught the setting light, 
The cradle of Liberty. 

There, on the silent and lonely. shore, 
For ages I watched alone, 

And the world, in its darkness, asked no more 
Where the glorious bird had flown. 


But then, came a bold and hardy few, 
And they breasted the unknown wave; 
1 saw from far the wandering crew, 
And I knew they were high and brave. 
I wheeled around the welcome bark, 
As it sought the desolate shore, 
And up to heaven, like a joyous lark, 
My quivering pinions bore. 


And now, that bold and hardy few. 
Are a nation wide and strong ; 

And danger and doubt I have led them through, 
And they worship me in song ; 

And over their bright and glancing arms, 
On field, and lake, and sea, 

With an eye that fires, and a spell that charms, 
T guide them to victory !’’—Perrcivan. 


LESSON COXXVII. 
ROME. 


Tue Niobe of nations! there she stands, 

Childless and crownless, in her voiceless woe; 

An empty urn within her withered hands, 

Whose holy dust was scattered long ago; 

The Scipios’ tomb contains no ashes now; 

The very sepulchers are tenantless 

Of their heroic dwellers; dost thou flow, 

Old Tiber! through a marble wilderness ? 

Rise, with thy yellow waves, and mantle her distress ? 


The Goth, the Christian, Time, War, Flood, and Fire, 
Have dealt upon the seven hilled city’s pride; 

She saw her glories, star by star, expire, 

And up the steep, barbarian monarchs ride 

Where the car climbed the capitol; far and wide 
Temple and tower went down, nor left a site: 

Chaos of ruins! who shall trace the void, 

O’er the dim fragments cast a lunar light, 

And say, ‘here was, or is,’’? where all is doubly night? 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 46 


The double night of ages, and of her, 

Night’s daughter, ignorance, hath wrapt and wrap 
All round us; we but feel our way to err: 

The ocean hath his chart, the stars their map, 
And knowledge spreads them on her ample lap; 
But Rome is as the desert, where we steer 
Stumbling o’er recollections; now we clap 

Our hands, and cry, ‘* Hureka!’’ it is clear— 
When but some false mirage of ruin rises near. 


. Alas! the lofty city! and alas! 

The trebly hundred triumphs! and the day, 

When Brutus made the dagger’s edge surpass 

The conqueror’s sword in bearing fame away! 

Alas, for Tully’s voice, and Virgil’s lay, 

And Livy’s pictured page! but these shall be 

Her resurrection; all beside, decay. 

Alas, for earth! for never shall we see 

That brightness in her eye she bore, when Rome was free. 


There is a moral of all human tales; 

*Tis but the same rehearsal of the past: 

First, freedom, and then, glory ; when that fails, 

Wealth, vice, corruption,—barbarism at last; 

And history, with all her volumes vast, 

Hath but one page,—’tis better written here, 

Where gorgeous tyranny had thus amassed 

All treasures, all delights, that eye, or ear, . 

Heart, soul could seek, tongue ask—away with words! draw near ; 
Admire, exult, despise, laugh, weep; for here, 

There is much matter for all feeling. —Man! 

Thou pendulum betwixt-a smile and tear! 

Ages and realms are crowded in this span, 

This mountain, whose obliterated plan 

The pyramid of empires pinnacled, 

Of glory’s gew-gaws shining in the van, 

Till the sun’s rays with added flame were filled! 

Where are its golden roofs? where those who dared to build? 


Tully was not so eloquent as thou, 

Thou nameless column, with the buried base! 
What are the laurels of the Cesar’s brow? 
Crown me with ivy from his dwelling place. 
Whose arch or pillar meets me in the face } 
Titus’,or Trajan’s? No! ’tis that of Time: 
‘Triumph, arch, pillar, all he doth displace, 
Scoffing; and apostolic statues climb 

To crush the imperial urn,* whose ashes slept sublime.—Byron. 


* Trajan’s. 


466 M'GUFFEY'S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


LESSON CCXXVIIL. BE a: 
WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 


WueEn I am in a serious humor, I very often walk by myself. 
in Westminster Abbey, where the gloominess of the place, and 
the use to which it is applied, with the solemnity of the building, 
and the condition of the people who lie in it, are apt to fill the 
mind with a kind of melancholy, or rather thoughtfulness, that 
is not disagreeable. I yesterday passed the whole afternoon in 
the church-yard, the cloisters, and the church, amusing myself 
with the tomb-stones and inscriptions that I met with in those 
several regions of the dead. Most of them recorded nothing 
else of the buried person, but that he was born upon one day, and 
died upon another; the whole history of his life being compre- 
hended in those two circumstances,-that are common to all man- 
kind. I could not but look upon these registers of existence, 
whether of brass or marble, as a kind of satire upon the departed 
persons, who had left no other memorial of them, but that they 
were born, and that they died. 

Upon my going into the church, I entertained myself with the 
digging of a grave, and saw in every shovelfull of it that was 
thrown up, the frasment of a bone or skull, intermixed with a 
kind of fresh, moldering earth, that,sometime or other, had a place 
in the composition of a human body. Upon this, I began to 
consider with myself, what innumerable multitudes of people lay 
confused together under the pavement of that ancient cathedral ; 
how men and women, friends and enemies, priests and soldiers, 
monks and prebendaries, were crumbled among one another, and 
blended together in the same common mass; how beauty, strength, 
and youth, with old age, weakness, and deformity, lay undistin- 
guished in the same promiscuous heap of matter. 

After having thus surveyed this magazine of mortality, as it 
were in the lump, I examined it more particularly, by the ac- 
eounts which I found on several of the monuments, which are 
raised in every quarter of that ancient fabric. ‘Some of them 
were covered with such extravagant epitaphs, that if it were pos- 
sible for the dead person to be acquainted with them, he would 
blush at the praises which his friends have bestowed upon him. 
‘There are others so excessively modest, that they deliver the char- 
acter of the person departed, in Greek or Hebrew, and, by that 
means, are not understood once ina twelvemonth. In the poetical 
quarter, I found there were poets who had no monuments, and 
monuments which had no poets. I observed, indeed, that the 
present war had filled the church with many of those uninhabit- 
ed monuments, which had been crected to the memory of. per- 


OF ‘THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 467 


sons, whose bodies were, perhaps, buried in the plains of Blen- 
‘heim, or in the bosom of the ocean. . 

I know, that entertamments of this nature are apt to raise dark 
and dismal thoughts in timorous minds and gloomy imaginations; 
but, for my own part, though I am always serious, I do not know 
what it is to be melancholy; and can, therefore, take a view of 
nature in her deep and solemn scenes, with the same pleasure, as 
in her most gay and delightful ones. By this means, | can im- 
prove myself with those objects, which others consider with ter- 
ror, When I look upon the tombs of the great, every emotion of 
envy dies in me; when I read the epitaphs of the beautiful, every 
inordinate desire goes out ; when I meet with the grief of parents 
upon a tombstone, my heart melts with compassion ; when I see 
the tomb of the parents themselves, I consider the vanity of 
grieving for them, whom we must quickly follow; when I see 
kings lying by those who deposed them, when I see rival wits 
lying side by-side, or holy men that divided the world by their 
contests and disputes, I reflect, with sorrow and astonishment, 
on the little competitions, factions, and debates of mankind. 
When I read the several dates of the tombs, of some that died 
yesterday, some, six hundred years ago, I consider that great . 
day when we shall all of us be contemporaries, and make our 
appearance together.—ADDISON. 


LESSON CCXXIX. 
THE THREE WARNINGS. 


Tue tree of deepest root is found 

Least willing still to quit the ground ; 

*T was therefore said, by ancient sages, 
That love of life increased with years, 

So much, that in our latter stages, 

When pains grow sharp and sickness rages, 
The greatest love of life appears. 

This great affection to believe, 

Which all confess, but few perceive, 

If old assertions can’t prevail, 

Be pleased to hear a modern tale. 


When sports went round, and all were gay, 
On neighbor Dobson’s wedding-day ; 

Death called aside the jocund groom 

With him into another room 5 

And looking grave, ‘“‘ You must ”’ says he, 
‘Quit your sweet bride, and come with me.” 


468 


MGUFFEY'S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


“With you ! and quit my-Susan’s side? 
With you?” the hapless bridegroom crieil : 
Young as J am, ’tis monstrous hard! 
Besides, in truth, I’m not prepared.” 


What more he urged, I have not heard ; 
His reasons could not well be stronger: 
So Death the poor delinquent spared, 
And left to live a little longer. 
Yet calling up a serious look, 
His hour-class trembled, while he spoke-— 
“‘ Neighbor,” he said, ‘* farewell; no more 
Shall Death disturd your mirthful hour, 
And further, to avoid all blame 
Of cruelty upon my name, 
To give you time for preparation, 
And fit you for your future station, 
Three several warnings you’shall have, 
Before you’re summoned to the grave: 
Willing, for once, I’1l quit my prey, 
And. grant a kind reprieve ; 
In hopes you ’ll have no more to say, 
But when I eall again this way, 
Well pleased the world will leave. 
To these conditions both consented, 
And parted perfectly contented. 


What next the hero of our tale befell, 
How long he lived, how wise, how well, 
It boots not, that the muse should tell; 
He plowed, he sowed, he bought, he sold, 
Nor once perceived his growing old, 

Nor thought of Death as near; 
His friends not false, his wife no shrew, 
Many his gains, his children few, 
He passed his hours-in peace : 
But, while he viewed his wealth increase, 
While thus along life’s dusty road, 
The beaten track, content, he trod, 
Old Time, whose haste no mortal spares, 
Unealled, unheeded, unawares, 

Brought on his eightieth year. 


And now, one night, in musing mood 
As all alone he sat, 
The unwelcome messenger of Fate 
Once more before him stood. 
Half killed with wonder and surprise, 
‘¢ So soon returned !’’ old Dobson. cries. 
“So soon, d’ye call it ?’’ Death replies: 
‘‘ Surely, my friend, you ’re but in jest; 
Since I was here before, 


ate 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 469 . 


"T is six-and-thirty years at least, 
And you are now four-score.”’ 
‘¢So much the worse !”’ the clown rejoined ; 
‘‘'To spare the aged would be kind : 
Besides, you promised me three warnings, 
Which I have looked for, nights and mornings !”” 


‘‘T know,’’ cries Death, ‘ that, at the best, 
I seldom am a welcome guest ; 

But don ’t be eaptious, friend ; at least, 
I little thought you ’d still be able © 
To stump about your farm and stable; 
Your years have run to a great length, 

~ Yet still you seem to have your strength.” 
‘¢ Hold !”’ says the farmer, ‘ not so fast ! 
I have been lame, these four years past.”’ 
‘* And no great wonder,”’ Death replies ; 
*¢ However, you still keep your eyes 5 
And surely, sir, to see one’s friends, 
For legs and arms would make amends.”’ 
‘“‘ Perhaps,”’ says Dobson, “so it might, 
But latterly I’ve lost my sight.” 
‘¢ This is a shocking story, faith ; 
But there’s some comfort still,’’ says Death; 
Each strives your sadness to amuse : 
I warrant you hear all the news.” 
‘¢ There ’s none,”’ cries he, ‘* and if there were, 
[’ve grown so deaf, I could not hear.” 


*‘ Nay, then,” the specter stern rejoined, 
‘‘ [These are unpardonable yearnings ; 
If you are lame, and deaf, and blind, 
You ’ve had your three sufficient warnings ; 
So, come along ! no more we ’ll part :” 
He said, and touched him with his dart: 
And now, old Dobson, turning pale, 
Yields to his fate—so ends my tale-—Mrs. THRALE 


LESSON CCXXX. 
GRATEFULOLD AGE—THE SOLILOQUY OF PALEZMON 


How beautifully the dawn shines through the hazel-bush, and 
the wild roses blossom at the window! How joyfully the swal- 
low sings on the rafter, under my roof, and the little lark in the 
high air! Every thing is cheerful, and every. plant is revived 
in the dew. I also feel revived. My staff shall guide my tot- 
tering steps to the threshold of my cottage, and therewill I sit 
down facing the rising sun, and look abroad on the green mead- 


* 


470 = M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


ows. How beautiful is all around me here! All that I hear 
are voices of joy and thanks. ‘The birds in the air and the shep- 
herd on the hill, sing their delight, and the flocks from the grassy 
slopes and out of the variegated valleys, bellow out their joy. 

How long, how long, shall I yet be a witness of divine good- 
ness? Ninety times, have I already seen the change of the sea- 
sons; and when f look back from the present hour to the time 
of my birth,—a beautiful and extended prospect which, at last, 
is lost in pure air,—how swells my heart! ‘This emotion, which 
my tongue cannot utter, is it not rapture? And are not these 
tears, tears of joy? And yet, are not both too feeble an expres- 
sion of thanks? Ah! flow, ye tears! flow down these cheeks! 

When I look back, it seems as if I had lived only through a long 
spring, my sorrowful hours being only short storms, which re- 
freshed the fields and enlivened the plants. Hurtful pestilences 
have never diminished our flocks; never has a mischance hap- 
pened to our trees,.nor a lingering misfortune rested on this cot- 
tage. I looked out enraptured into futurity, when my children 
played smiling in my arms, or.when my hand .guided their tot- 
tering footsteps. With tears of joy I looked out into the future, 
when I saw these young sprouts spring up. ‘1 will protect 
them from mischance,”’ said I, «1 will watch over their growth, 
and heaven will bless my endeavors. ° They will grow up and 
bear excellent fruit, and become trees, which shall shelter my de- 
clining age with their spreading branches.” 

So. I spake, and pressed them to my heart, and now, they 
have grown up, full of blessings, covering my weary years with 
their. refreshing shade. So, the apple trees, the pear trees, and 
the tall nut trees, planted by me while yet a boy, around my 
cottage, have grown up, carrying their widely extended branches 
_ high into the air; and my little home nestles in their covering 
shade. This, this was my most vehement grief, O Myrta, 
when thou didst expire on my agitated breast, within my arms. 
Spring has already covered thy grave, twelve times, with flow- 
ers. *-But the day approaches, a joyful day, when my bones 
shall be laid with thine. Perhaps, the coming night conducts 
it hither. O, I see with delight, how my gray beard flows down 
over my breast. Yes, play with the white hair on my breast, 


thou little zephyr, who hoverest about me! It is as worthy of , 


thy caresses, as the golden hair of joyful youth, or the brown 
curls on the neck of the blooming maiden. . 
This day shall be to me a day of joy! I will assemble my 
children around me here—even down to the little stammering 
grand-child—and will offer thanksgiving to God; the altar shall 
be here before my cottage. I will garland my bald head, and 
my trembling hand shall take the lyre, and then will we-—I and 


t 


» i. mm . 


+ wee 
; aid We 


ae 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. “471 


my children—sing songs of praise. Then, will I strew flowers 
over my table, and, with joyful discourses, partake of the boun- 
ty of the most Hich. 

‘Thus spake Palemon, and rose trembling upon his staff; and 
having called his children together, held a glad festival of devout 
and joyous thanksgiving to the Deity. —TRANSLATED FROM THE 
GERMAN OF GESNER. 


LESSON CCXXXI. 


"PT HESNEW YEAR’S NIGHT OF AN UNHAPPY MAN. 


On new-year’s night, an old man stood at his window, and 
looked, with a glance of fearful despair, up to the immovable, 
unfading heaven,.and down upon the still, pure, white earth, on 
which no one was now so joyless and sepia: as he. © His 
grave stood: near him; it was covered only with the snows of 
age, not with the verdure of youth; and he brought with him 
out of a whole, rich life, nothing but errors, sins, and diseases ; 
a wasted body; a desolate soul; a heart full of poison; and an 
old age full of repentance. | : 

The happy days of his early youth passed before him, like a 
procession of specters, and brought back to him that lovely 
morning, when his father first placed him on the cross-way of 
life, where the right hand led by the sunny paths of virtue, into 
a large and. quiet land, full of light and harvests; and the left. 
plunged by the subterranean walks of vice, into a black cave, full 
of distilling poison, of hissing snakes, and of dark, sultry vapors. 

Alas, the snakes were hanging upon his breast, and the drops 
of poison on his tongue ; and he now, at length, felt all the hor- hs 
ror of his situation. Distracted, with unspeakable grief, and” 
with face up-turned to heaven, he cried, “ My father! give me 
back my youth! O, place me once again upon life’s cross-way, 
that I may choose aright.”’ But his father and his youth were 
long since gone. He saw phantom-lights dancing upon the 
marshes, and disappearing at the church-yard; and he said, 
«‘ These are my foolish days !’. He saw a star shoot from heav- 
en, and glittering in its fall, vanish upon the earth. “ Behold an 
emblem of my career,”’ said his bleeding heart, and the serpent 
tooth of repentance digged deeper into his wounds. 

His excited imagination shewed him specters flying upon the 
roof, and a skull, which had been left in the charnel-house, grad- 
ually assumed his own features. In the midst of this confusion 
of objects, the music of the new-year flowed down from the 
steeple, like distant church-melodies. His heart began to melt. 


47Q« °* MW’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


He looked around the horizon, and over the wide earth, and 
thought of the friends of his youth, who now,—better and hap- 
pier than he,—were the wise of the earth, prosperous men, and 
the fathers of happy children; and he said, “ Like you, I also 
might slumber, with tearless eyes, through the long nights, had 
I chosen aright in the outset.of my career. Ah, my father! had 
I hearkened to thy instructions, | too might have been happy.”’ 

In this feverish remembrance of his youthful days, the skull 
bearing his features, seemed slowly to rise from the door of the 
charnel-house. At leneth, by that superstition, which, in the 
new-year’s night, sees the shadow of the future, it became a liy- 
ing youth. He could look no longer,—he covered his eyes,—a 
thousand burning tears streamed down, and fell upon the snow. 
In accents scarcely audible, he sighed disconsolately : «Oh, days 
of my youth, return, return!’’—and they dd return. It had only 
been a horrible dream. But, although he was still a youth, his 
errors had been a reality. And he thanked God, that he, still 
young, was, able to pause in the degrading course of vice, and 
return to the sunny path which leads to the land of harvests. 

Return with him, young reader, if thou art walking in the 
same downward path, lest his dream become thy reality. For 
if thou turnest not now, in the spring-time of thy days, vainly, 
in after years, when the shadows of age are darkening around 
thee, shalt thou call, “ Return, oh beautiful days of youth!” 
Those beautiful days, gone, gone forever, and hidden in the sha- 
dows of the misty past, shall close their ears against thy misera- 
ble cries, or answer thee in hollow accents, “las! we return 
no more.”’—TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF RIcHTER. 


LESSON CCXXXII. 
THE CLOSING VEAR. 


°T 1s midnight’s holy hour, and silence now 
Is brooding, like a gentle spirit, o’er 
The still and pulseless world. Hark! on the winds, 
The bell’s deep tones are swelling; ’t is the knell 
Of the departed year. No funeral train 
Is sweeping past; yet, on the stream and wood, 
With melancholy light, the moon-beams rest 
Like a pale, spotless shroud; the air is stirred, 
As by a mourner’s sigh ; and, on yon cloud, 
That floats so still and placidly through heaven, 
The spirits of the Seasons seem to stand,— 
Young Spring, bright Summer, Autumn’s solemn form, 
And Winter, with his aged lecks,—and breathe 


hile 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 473 


In mournful cadences, that come abroad 

Like the far wind-harp’s wild, touching wail, 
A melancholy dirge o’er the dead year, 

Gone from’the earth forever. 


°T is a time 
For memory and for tears. Within the deep, 
Still chambers of the heart, a specter dim, 
’ Whose tones are like the wizard voice of Time, 
Heard from the tomb of ages, points its cold 
And solemn finger to the beautiful 
And holy visions, that have passed away, . 
And left no shadow of their loveliness 
On the dead waste of life. ‘That specter lifts 
The coffin-lid of Hope, and Joy, and Love, 
And bending mournfully above the pale, 
Sweet forms that slumber there, scatters dead flowers 
O’er what has passed to nothinoness. 


The year 
Has gone, and with it, many a glorious throng 
Of happy dreams. Its mark is on each brow, 
Its shadow, in each heart. In its swift course, 
It waved its scepter o’er the beautiful ; 
And they are not. It laid its pallid hand 
Upon the strong man; and the haughty form 
Is fallen, and the flashing eye is dim. 
It trod the hall of revelry, where thronged 
The bright and joyous; and the tearful wail 
Of stricken ones is heard, where erst the song 
And reckless shout resounded., It passed o’er 
The battle-plain, where sword, and spear, and shield, 
Flashed in the light of mid- -day ; ; and the strength 
Of serried ‘hosts is shivered, and the grass, 
Green from the soil of carnage, waves above 
The crushed and moldering skeleton. It came, 
And faded like a wreath of mist at eve; 
Yet, ere it melted in the viewless air, 
It heralded its millions to their home. 
In the dim land of dreams. 


Remorseless Time! 

Fierce spirit of the glass and sythe! what power 
Can stay him in his silent course, or melt 
His iron-heart to pity! On, still on, 
He presses, and forever. The proud bird,. 
The condor of the Andes, that can soar 
Through heaven’s unfathomable depths, or brave 
The fury of the northern hurricane, 
And bathe his plumage in the thunder’s home, 
Furls his broad wing at night-fall, and sinks down 
To rest upon his mountain « crag 5 but Time 

40 


WGUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


Knows not the weight of sleep or weariness, 
And Night’s deep darkness has no chain to bind 
His-rushing pinion. 


Revolutions sweep 
O’er earth, like troubled visions o’er the breast 
Of dreaming sorrow; cities rise and sink 
Like bubbles on the water; fiery isles 
Spring blazing from the ocean, and go back . 
To their mysterious caverns ; mountains rear 
To heaven their bold and blackened cliffs, and bow 
Their tall heads to the plain; and empires rise, 
Gathering the strength of hoary centuries, 
And rush down, like the Alpine avalanche, 
Startling the nations; and the very stars, 
Yon bright and glorious blazonry of God, 
Glitter a while in their eternal depths, 
And, like the Pleiad, loveliest of their train, 
Shoot from their clorious spheres, and pass away 
To darkle in the trackless void; yet Time, 
Time, the tomb-builder, holds his fierce career, 
Dark, stern, all-pitiless, and pauses not 
Amid the mighty wrecks that strew his path, 
To sit and muse, like other conquerors, 
Upon the fearful ruin he hath wrought.—G. D. Prentice. 


LESSON CCXXXTI. 


THE LAST MAN. 


Au worldly shapes shall melt in gloom, 
The sun himself must die, 

Before the mortal shall assume 
Its immortality. 

I saw a vision in my sleep, 

That gave my spirit strength to sweep 
Adown the gulf of time. 

I saw the last of human mold, 

That shall creation’s death behold, 
As Adam saw her prime. 


The sun’s eye had a sickly glare, 

The earth with age was wan; 
The skeletons of nations were 

Around that lonely man. 

Some had expired in fight; the brands 
Still rusted in their bony hands; 

In plague and famine, some. 
Earth’s cities had:no sound nor tread; 
And ships were drifting with the dead 

fis shores where all was dumb. ~ 


. a 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 379 


Yet, prophet-like, that lone one stood, 
With dauntless words and high, 
That shook the sear leaves from the wood, 
As if a storm passed by; 
Saying, ‘“‘ We are twins in death, proud Sun, 7” 
Thy face is cold, thy race is run, 
*Tis mercy bids thee go. 
For thou, ten thousand thousand years, 
Hast seen the tide of human tears, 
That shall-no longer flow. 


‘© What though beneath thee, man put forth 
His pomp, his pride, his skill, 

And arts that made fire, flood, and earth, 
The vassals of his will: 

Yet mourn I not thy parted sway, 

Thou dim, discrowned king of day; 

_ For all these trophied arts 

And triumphs, that beneath thee sprang, 

Healed not a passion or a pang, 
Entail’d on human hearts. 


* Go, let oblivion’s curtain fall 
Upon the stage of men; 
Nor, with thy rising beams, recall 
Life’s tragedy again. 
Its piteous pageants bring not back, 
Nor waken flesh, upon the rack 
Of pain anew to writhe, 
Stretch’d in disease’s shapes abhori’d, 
Or mown in battle by the sword, 
Like grass beneath the sythe. 


* Hven [ am weary, in yon skies 
To watch thy fading fire; 
Test of all sunless agonies, 
Behold not me expire. 
My lips, that speak thy dirge of death, 
Their rounded gasp and gurgling breath 
To see, thou shalt not boast. 
The eclipse of nature spreads my pall, 
The majesty of darkness shall 
Receive my parting ghost. 


“This spirit shall return.to Him 
That gave its heavenly spark 5 
Yet, think not, Sun, it shall be dim 
When thou thyself art dark. 

No! it shall live again, and shine 

In bliss unknown to beams of thine, 
By Him recalled to breath, 

Who captive led captivity, 

Who robbed the grave of Victory 
And took the sting from Death. 


476 MWGUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


* 


“Go, Sun, while mercy holds me up 
On nature’s awful waste, 
To drink this last and bitter cup - 
Of grief that man shall taste, 
Go, tell the night, that hides thy face, 
Thou saw’st the last of Adam’s race - 
On earth’s sepulchral elod, 
The dark’ning universe defy 
To quench his immortality, 
Or shake his trust in God !’’—CampBeun. 


LESSON CCXXXIV 
GOD BLESSES THE INDUSTRIOUS 


‘THERE is an ancient fable of a man whose wagon was set fast 
in the mire, instantly praying to Hercules to come and lift it out 
for him. The statement is, that Hercules did, indeed, come, but 
told him to put his own shoulder to the wheel; for he would not 
try to help him, till he began in earnest to help himself. 

Fables of this nature do well enough to exhibit a moral senti- 
ment when we want to smile, but on the present occasion we may 
say, on authority quite different from fables,—“ Providence rules 
over all things, and rules, by assisting our personal exertions.” 
It is the blessing of God which maketh rich, and addeth no sor- 
row therewith. And this blessing has always a connection with 
our own endeavors. ‘The hand of the diligentshall bear rule.” 
«‘Seest thou a man slothful in his business ?—there is more hope 
of a fool than of him.” 

There are two mistakes, which are extremes to each other, 
either of them very hurtful to such’as incline towards them. 
One considers the over-ruling power and providence of God as 
a reason, or rather as an excuse for indolence. If God works, 
and gives as he pleases, I need not work; I may be still, till he 
chooses to shower down the blessmg. Facts and experience 
show that such persons mistake sadly; they read their folly in 
their failure. ‘This modg of error is not very likely to allure 
the young; the spirit of activity natural to youth, revolts against 
it. ‘There is more danger from the opposite feeling, which 
places so much confidence in its own exertions, as to forget, that, 
after all, the blessing must be sought, must, indeed, be obtained, 
or no actual success will crown our labors. 

The hand of Providence is an unseen hand; but not on that 
account the less real, or the less powerful, or the less suited to our 
daily occasions “He is on my right hand, though I cannot see 


o 


hee 


ii 


OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 477 


him ; and on my left hand he worketh, though I cannot behold 
him.” 'To have so powerful, so wise, so gracious an agent on 
our side, must be an advantage ; even the careless must own this. 
To have him, on the contrary, our adversary, must be to ruin us; 
the most hardy will eventually feel it se. Were we speaking of 
the world to come, the statement would scarcely be denied; and 
it is equally true of the world that now is. 

Let it be recollected, that large, and beauteous, and well-fur- 
nished as this globe of ours is, it is rather a laboratory than a 
store-house. ‘The things we see are not exactly what we want; 
they are rather materials,and tools, and incitements towards the 
production of our own enjoyments. He who prepared Eden for 
man, did not authorize him to lounge and take his ease there, but 
‘“¢ He put him into the garden, to dress it and to keep it.”’. ‘There 
were fruits, and flowers, and shady groves, and sunny banks, no 
doubt ; luxurious gratifications to every sense ; but these were all 
of a nature to run wild and spoil, if left to themselves ; mind, 
intellectual mind was necessary to keep them in proper order, to 
give them their sweetest beauty, to produce their most gratifying 
effect, and, especially,to continue the varied succession for daily 
occasions, as new days would severally demand. 7 

His plan is still the same. JEivery individual mind he brings 
into existence, is placed where little can be obtained by ignorance 
or torpidity, but much by skill and labor. ‘That wheat, which 
becomes the substantial food of man, was once a neglected plant, 
growing wild, and scattering vainly its starvelmg seeds to the 
wind. Were it not now selected, carefully sown, defended, fos- 
tered, cleaned, it would still be almost useless, except to the 

‘birds, whose instinct prompts them incessantly to seek it. The 
spreading tree may afford a shelter, by its shady branches, to a 
few naked Indians; but cut down, squared into timber, sawed 
into planks, planed, cut into moldings, it may form a habitation 
of quite another kind, which shall be more comfortable, secure, 
and certain. ? 

Beholdthat mis-shapen, dirty, useless lump. “ ‘Throw it away,” 
says ignorance. “ No,’ says science, “that is a mass of ore. 
By fire, by water, by hammering, by sifting, by melting, by shap- 
ing, we shall obtain the bar of iron, the workman’s tool, the al- 
most diamond-like brightness of polished steel! Our fruit-trees 
must be sown, and planted, and grafted, and pruned, or no deli- 
cious. fruit will be obtained. Those who grudge the labor, de- 
serve to have crab-apples, or black-berries for their dessert, for 
such is the spontaneous production of the soil.”’ 

We have many pretty descriptions given us of nature and her 
simple children, sometimes by the novelists, but oftener by those 
falsifying gentry, the poets, who never know how to keep to 


478 MWGUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 


plain matiers of fact;—accordingly, it is very fascinating in good 
rhymes, to have a vivid picture set before us, of nature spontane- 
ously providing for her favorite offspring. We are shown them 
in natural bowers, sleeping sweetly during the dominion of dark- 
ness, while the moon-beam flickers on their leafy pillow. O1 
we trace them, plucking from the bending bough, the luscious 
mangostan, the prickly-pear, the date, the flaming pomegranate 
or the ripe citron. 

If this picture please us, we had better not take a nearer in- 
spection by traveling thither. At least, let us first inquire, what 
serpents bask upon their sunny banks, or festoon from their over- 
arching mangroves ! what locusts sometimes blast all their vege- 
table hopes? what diseases undermine their health, which they 
have no skill to repel? In short, wherever nature, simple, unas- 
sisted nature rules, there are countless privations. Where arts 
are unknown, science uncultivated, commerce unattended to, there 
are misery, want, superstition, and every kind of suffering. 

Such is, always, and under every climate, the condition of those 
who do not hearken to the voice of Almighty Benevolence, say- 
ing, ‘Arise and labor. Bind, and prune, and dig, and sow ; form, 
build, beautify, exalt. Here are, around you, in rich abundance, 
materials, tools, immense powers of action; apply them. While 
you sit still, 1 shall give you little; up, and be doing. Invent, it 
shall delight you ; make, it shall be useful to you; preserve, it shall — 
enrich you; associate, mutual kindness shall make you happy ; 
ye shall cultivate one another; ye shall do soon, by mutual as- 
sistance, what by individual exertion no one can ever effect. 
Let me see fields of golden corn waving; there is a fine vale for 
them; gather me flocks on those mountains; drain that marsh, 
it will make the air wholesome: on that knoll, assemble a village ; 
teach the hollowed tree to float in that river; catch the fish, allure 


. the birds, drive off the beasts of prey, defend the cattle, educate 


the children. Activa will bring health; wants will lead to in- 
vention ; inventions will produce accommodation; accommoda- 
tion will give leisure; and leisure, which avoids the imine of 
labor, gives opportunity for thinking.” 

The being who lives idly, lives rebelliously ; contrary to na- 
ture’s first law, and purest feeling; and he must take, as his ap- 
propriate Laguntuady’ poverty, ienorance, misery, and want. 

‘TAYLOR. 


a: 
OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 479 % 


LESSON CCXXXV. 
GOD'S GOODNESS TO SUCH AS FEAR HIM 


Fret not thyself because of evil doers, 
Nor be thou envious against the workers of iniquity ; 
For they shall be cut down like the grass, 
And wither as the green herb. 
Trust in the Lorp and do good; 
So shalt thou dwell in the land, and verily thou shalt be fed. 
Delight thyself, also, in the Lorn, 
And He shall give thee the desires of thy heart. 
Commit thy way unto the Lorp; 
Trust also in Him, and He shall bring it to pass, 
And He shall bring forth thy righteousness as the light, 
And thy judgment as the noon-day. 
Rest in the Lorp, and wait patiently for Him. 


Fret not thyself because of him who prospereth in his way, 
Because of the man who bringeth wicked devices to pass. 
Cease from anger and forsake wrath ; 

Fret not thyself, in any wise, to do evil, 

For evil-doers shall be cut off; 

But those that wait upon the Lorn, they shall inherit the earth. . 
For yet a little while, and the wicked shall not be; 

Yea, thou shalt diligently consider his place, and it shall not be. 
But the meek shall inherit the earth, 

And shall delight themselves in the abundance of peace. 


The wicked plotteth against the just, 
And gnasheth upon him with his teeth. 
The Lorp shall laugh at him, 
For He seeth that his day is coming. 
The wicked have drawn out the sword, 
And have bent their bow, 
To cast down the poor and needy, : 
And to slay such as are of upright conversa(gon. 
Their sword shall enter into their own heart, 
And their bows shall be broken. 


A little, that a righteous man hath, 
Is better than the riches of many wicked ; 
For the arms of the wicked shall be broken, 
But the Lorp upholdeth the righteous. 
The Lorp knoweth the days of the upright, 
And their inheritance shall,be forever ; 
They shall not be ashamed in the evil time; 
And in the days of famine they shall be satisfied. 
But the wicked shall perish, 
And the enemies of the Lorn shall be as the fat of lambs; 
They shall consume; into smoke shall they consume-away. 
The wicked borroweth and payeth not again; 


~ 480 M GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE. 


But the righteous showeth mercy and giveth. 

- For such as are blessed of him shall inherit the earth ; 
And they who are cursed of him shall be cut off. 

The steps of a good man are ordered by the Lorp, 
And he delighteth in his way ; 

‘Though he fall, he shall not be utterly cast down, 

For the Lorp upholdeth him with his hand. 


_ I have been young, and now am old, 
Yet have I not seen the righteous forsaken, 
Nor his seed begging bread. 

He is ever merciful and lendeth, 

And his seed is blessed. 


Depart from evil and do good, 
And dwell for evermore; 
For the Lorp loveth judgment, 
And forsaketh not his saints: 
They are preserved forever: 
But the seed of the wicked shall be cut off: 
The righteous shall inherit the land, 
And dwell therein forever. 
The mouth of the righteous speaketh wisdom, 
And his tongue talketh of judgment ; 
The law of his God is in his heart; 
None of his steps shall slide. 
The wicked watcheth the righteous, 
And seeketh to slay him. 
The Lorp will not leave him in his hand, 
Nor condemn him when he is judged. 
Wait on the Lorp and keep his way, 
And He shall exalt thee to inherit the land; 
When the wicked are cut off, thou shalt see it. 
I have seen the wicked in great power, 
And spreading himself like a green bay-tree; 
Yet he passed away, and lo, he was not; 
Yea, I sought him, but he could not be found. 


Mark the perfect man, and behold the upright, 
For the end of that man is peace ; 
But the transgreSsors shall be destroyed together, 
The end of the wicked shall be cut off, 
But the salvation of the righteous is of the Lorp; 
He is their strength in the time of-trouble; . 
And the Lorp shall help them, and deliver them; 
He shall deliver them from the wicked, and save them, 
Because they trust in him,—PsaLmM Xxxvu. 


THE END. 


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